


Harry Potter and the Death Eater's Son

by LHNameless



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Art, Bottom Draco, Bottom Harry, Car Sex, Comedy, Coming Out, Death Eater - Freeform, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Draco Malfoy - Freeform, Drarry, Dreams and Nightmares, Fanart, Fate, Fear, Fluff, Friendship, Gryffindor, Harry Potter - Freeform, Harry Potter References, Harry Potter and the death eater's son, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Humor, LHNameless, Love, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Magic, Mystery, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Patronus, Plot Twists, Potions, Red String of Fate, Romance, Sarcasm, Sassy Harry Potter, Slytherin, Smut, Snakes, Spells & Enchantments, Thriller, Top Draco Malfoy, Top Harry, romione
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-12-04 14:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11557050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LHNameless/pseuds/LHNameless
Summary: Harry Potter is about to start his last year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and after being banished to the cupboard under the stairs for two months, he can't wait to return. However, there is something about the school that has changed since the end of the War. The atmosphere is the same, despite the few odd occasions, but Harry can't help but feel as if something is wrong. Maybe it was the way that his wand would draw a red ribbon when it felt like it, or maybe it was the way that Hagrid's dogs would bark at nothing, but there was certainly something wrong—and it all started with the Patronus that cried in his dreams.





	1. The Final Year

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to Harry Potter and the Death Eater's Son, thank you for clicking on the book. xx
> 
> I have been asked by a lot of people to write a Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter story, and I'd been thinking about it for a long time as well, so here you are! This story is both romance and adventure. It will therefore have a proper plot and the romance will be progressive.
> 
> This story takes place after the War that killed a lot of people including Dumbledore, Hedwig the owl, and Voldemort. Harry is in his final year and is seventeen years old when he returns to Hogwarts. Please remember that this remains a fanfiction, and some details may not resemble the original storyline but I will try my best.
> 
> Also, like in every one of my books, I shall include my own art that you can have for free if you comment or direct message me ;)  
> There is more art on my instagram: LHNameless
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> None of the characters, buildings, or creatures are mine and belong to J.K. Rowling.  
> The storyline, book cover, and art belong to me.
> 
> This story is dedicated to you, as always.

Summer seemed to last forever in the Dursley Household, Harry thought as he tossed the bacon clumsily around in the frying pan. Even after a decade of practice, he somehow couldn't get the slices to fry evenly on both sides, and by that point he'd stopped trying—he wouldn't be the one to eat them, anyway. And so, Harry stared at the crackling bacon, shook it around in attempt to look like he was too busy to interact with the other people in the room, and continued to distract himself with his thoughts.

For one thing, his back was aching so much he was convinced that any harsh movement would make him a hunchback for the rest of his life. Then again, for a seventeen year old who slept on an infant-sized bed in a cupboard under the stairs, this pain wasn't the worst he could imagine feeling.

He pushed his round glasses up his nose, skillfully dodged the spitting oil from the bacon, and turned the pan off. The bacon was black and burnt on one side and undercooked on the other, but Harry was quick to reassure himself that there was a high chance no one would notice. He slid the withered shreds on three plates, balanced them carefully on his arms, and wobbled all the way to the table where the Dursleys sat watching the television.

He pushed the fullest plate to Uncle Vernon, a fat man with a thick mustache that had once been a bright ginger but had faded over the years to an ashy grey, and Harry gave him an expectant look as if waiting to get punished for some irrelevant problem that he was not guilty for. Just as expected, Uncle Vernon's mustache twitched, resembling a rather furry slug, and he turned a remarkable shade of red.

"How dare you, boy!" He started to bellow, and Harry was sure that he could feel his hair fly backwards with the force of Uncle Vernon's voice. "I have bought no less than  _two_  shirts for you this year, and you've had the ungratefulness to get bacon grease on one of them!" He poked Harry in the chest with a podgy finger that stained the shirt with even more grease, and he glared at Harry who wasn't quite sure if he was meant to reply or not. Uncle Vernon turned to Aunt Petunia as if to demand back up, and the skinny woman lifted her head, looking more horse-like than Harry had ever noticed her to be.

For one thing, Harry had always wondered how she had stayed so thin after becoming a Dursley, but he realised now that it was equally as strange that Uncle Vernon had managed to marry a horse without wanting a divorce soon after.

Aunt Petunia turned her head, squinting, and Harry had to hold down a snigger as he noticed a slice of bacon running down her chin until it slid off and fell onto the cream carpet at her feet. "Harry!" She screeched, clearly not knowing what Harry had done, and also showing that she did not care. "Apologize at once and go to your cupboa— I mean, room. Go to your room and stay in there until I come and fetch you!" She added an insult at the end of her sentence for good measure, before looking back at her husband to check if she'd said the right thing.

Harry looked at Uncle Vernon as well, only to find his bulging eyes to be staring him down in the best way that they could. "Er—sorry?" said Harry, although it sounded more like a question than the apology that it was meant to be. Before he could get furtherly punished, he quickly backed away and left the kitchen.

He tried to make his short walk to the stairs as lasting as he could, knowing that once Uncle Vernon locked the door, there'd be a long, boring time until he was let back out. And so, Harry began to admire the photos on the wall as if he hadn't seen them a thousand times already. Every photo seemed to be the same thing—Uncle Vernon standing proudly in the middle where he took up most of the frame, Aunt Petunia squashed by his side, and a pink blob in various different hats that went by the name of Dudley.  
The only things that seemed to change in the pictures were the background, the colour of Uncle Vernon's mustache, Dudley's height, and the blurriness of the picture which showed how Harry's photography skills had progressively improved over the years.

The most recent picture was by the front door, and despite the fact that Harry had seen it uncountable times already, he found himself staring at it again. The picture was taken at the zoo, which had not been Dudley's first choice of location and so he'd complained and whined all the way like the spoiled brat Harry knew him as. Harry, however, had been quite pleased to be able to go back there, and he could vividly remember a certain incident from years before that had traumatised Dudley but given Harry great satisfaction. It was that day years before that Harry found out that he could understand snakes, and it was also the day where he'd finally got revenge on Dudley by accidentally trapping him inside the snake tank while the boa constrictor made its get-away back to Brazil, thanking Harry on the way out by winking.

Harry smiled at the memory, but was quickly pulled back to earth when something blast through the letterbox and hit him on the ankle. He looked down, and there was a brown letter with a red wax stamp sealing it closed, waiting at his feet. Harry's eyes widened when he saw it, and he glanced back at the kitchen where Dudley's voice was bawling from. Harry never got letters, not ever, but as soon as he saw the red stamp with the word 'Hogwarts' printed into it, he knew who this particular one was addressed to.

He swiped it up and skipped back to the cupboard under the stairs, suddenly far more eager to be there than he'd previously been, and he sat on his bed. A cloud of dust rained down on him, but at that moment, he couldn't have cared less. He actually had a  _letter,_ and for the first time in his life, it was in his own hands  _and_  in one piece.

Harry's fingers were shaking when he turned it over. He could feel it, smell the dusty scent of the paper—and he could hear it. As he held it, there was a whistling sound that slowly increased, and the paper turned a deep shade of red. Before Harry could do anything, it exploded.

"—HARRY POTTER, STUDENT AT HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY, WE WOULD LIKE TO WELCOME YOU BACK FOR YOUR FINAL YEAR. THE TRAIN LEAVES AT EIGHT O'CLOCK SHARP, SEPTEMBER THE FIRST, ON THE PLATFORM NINE AND THREE-QUARTERS. YOU ARE REQUIRED TO BRING A PET, A SUITCASE OF YOUR BELONGINGS, AND YOUR WAND. DUE TO A CHANGE, ALL STUDENTS ARE DEMANDED TO REMAIN VIGILANT AND DISCREET. YOU WILL BE REMINDED OF RULES AT FURTHER NOTICE. GOOD DAY TO YOU."

After another loud squawk that blew Harry's hair around his face and made the toy soldiers on his shelf fall over, the letter tore itself apart and disappeared into a pile of ashes on the floor. Harry remained in a state of shock for a moment while staring at where the letter—or rather  _howler,_  as he had so unfortunately found out—had been.

"BOY!" said Uncle Vernon, rattling the door to Harry's cupboard. He seemed to be competing with the howler as he swung the door open and proceeded to yell in Harry's face. "I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU, NO MAGIC!"

This was true, Harry had been banned from magic in the Dursley household and it had certainly been clear to him that, should he try any kind of trick or spell, then he'd never see outside of his cupboard walls again. However, Harry had also come to the fairly obvious conclusion that the Dursleys were more than scared of magic and if he took his wand out, they'd back away with their tails between their legs, or at least—in Dudley's case— waddle away and threaten to get his mother involved.

"I don't have a choice." said Harry, leaning away from his Uncle's wobbling turkey-neck, "And you know as well as I do that if you lock me up in here when term starts, they'll come and get me." Harry actually had no idea what would happen if he were to be locked up, but he was sure that the most Hogwarts would do was to send a house elf like they'd done once before when a similar situation had occurred.  
Uncle Vernon seemed convinced, however, and stepped back, banging his head on the staircase so a rain of dust fell on him too. "I will not have your games again, Harry, do you hear me?! No more MAGIC!" He slammed the door closed and this time it was Harry who was covered in dust particles and shards of wood.

He coughed, feeling less threatened that what'd he'd expected, but all the same miserable. He blew the dust off his glasses and looked at the small mirror on his wall. He stood up, narrowly missing a ledge that had met his forehead many times before, and took a step forwards to the opposite side of his room where he could look at himself.

The mirror was cracked down the middle and gave him the appearance of Quasimodo, but if he tilted his head back, then he could see himself reasonably clearly. He brushed a hand over his brown hair, wondering why it would never stay put. No matter how many times he brushed it, he always appeared like he'd just walked out of a huge explosion. And so he let his hair stay like that, fanning around and curling over his hollow cheeks, making them far more prominent than they should have been.  
He'd always been scrawny and not too tall, and his friends had often compared him to a 'stick insect in glasses', something which they had learned about in Charms class. Harry puffed out his cheeks, concluded that he would always look like a twig of the brink of snapping, and sighed heavily. His green eyes stared back, looking sleep-deprived and heavy, and somewhere deep among them, Harry could see loneliness, too. He missed having someone to talk to, he missed having his friends, Hermione and Ron, and he missed school.

Hogwarts was not a normal school, but that had been made quite clear to him even before he'd attended. One night, on his eleventh birthday, a giant man named Hagrid had burst into his so-called 'home' and had called him a wizard. Since that day, Harry had learnt not only about his title, but he'd learned that he was  _The_   _Harry Potter_ , and  _The_   _Harry Potter_  was the most famous wizard of his time.

That was why Harry felt obliged to go back to Hogwarts for his final year. He had no place here on in the muggle world where he was a nobody, but he had a place back there in the Wizarding one, for sure. It was an obligation for him to attend school because he was the one who had to defeat the Dark Lord. So what if he'd already won the battle? Perhaps that there was more to be done.. Perhaps that all of the people who had died during the War had something that they wanted Harry to carry out.

Or maybe, just as Harry had believed all summer, he was indeed a useless nobody now.

Harry Potter, the chosen one, the boy with the forehead scar shaped like a lightning bolt, he was useless now that he'd defeated evil. After all, he'd only been chosen to attend Hogwarts because of the Dark Lo— _Voldemort_ —in the first place. It had been his job to defeat him, and now that he had won the War that had killed hundreds, there was nothing really special about him. Above all of that, his heart still ached when he realised how many lives were ended on that day. He'd lost so many—Sirius, Remus, Fred Weasley, for crying out loud, even _Snape_  had sacrificed himself. Yes, Harry had lost almost everyone again. And Hogwarts still wanted him back.

That was the thing that Harry would never understand—how the people there could love him so much. He had never felt love before Hogwarts, he had never felt what it was like to have a friend, and he had never had anyone back him up. And so, as he stared at himself in the little mirror under the stairs, he made the decision. He  _would_  return and he would make those who'd died proud.

Harry gave himself a determined expression, turned around to pick up his suitcase and empty owl cage, and marched one foot to the door of his cupboard, pushing it open with purpose. And he found it be locked. And it was still august. And he had no way to get to the platform without his ginger friends, the Weasleys.

"Oh." He said, rather disappointed. He slumped back down on his bed and looked at the empty birdcage. Besides the dead fly in the bottom and the spider living inside the lock, it had been empty for a long time. He would need to get a new pet if he were to attend Hogwarts in a few weeks, and his bet was on an owl or a cat; but he could just hope that the pet store Witches in Diagon Alley would have the respect to offer him anything but a toad like the ones he'd seen around Hogwarts.

Harry sighed once more, put the cage back on the shelf, and stared emptily at it. Despite the excitement of going back to Hogwarts waving through him like a summer storm, he could not wash the taste of worry out of himself.

There was something inside of him, a feeling that he couldn't shake off, no matter how many hours he spent sitting on his bed that day. It was a long-lasting feeling that he could taste in his mouth and hear in his ears; it pulled strings at his heart and pushed the blood around his veins. Harry hated it, but it was the most warming thing he'd felt all summer. Even in his dreams, there it was. The feeling looked like a silver ball light.

He'd dream night after night of dark woods where this silver light awaited, flickering and glinting, trying to form itself into something. It was, as he'd learned from Professor Lupin two years before, a  _Patronus_ , and an undeveloped one at that. In Harry's spell book, the Patronus spell was described as the most powerful defensive charm known to all Wizards. It was the most complicated spell caused by an energy force known as a Patronus, or spirit guardian. The Patronus would take form of the animal corresponding to the Witch or Wizard to cast the spell, and due to the spell's difficulty, many people would never know of their Patronus.  
Harry had found out that his Patronus was a stag, just like his father's had been. His mother's had been a deer, and so Harry knew that both of his parents had been soulmates right from the start.

But all he could wonder as he was locked in his room day after day was whose Patronus he was dreaming of? In any case, it was struggling, and no matter how many nights Harry dreamed of the light, it never became an animal like it should.

All that he would tell himself, though, was that the Patronus was unimportant and belonged to no one, but then again, he'd been wrong before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope you like the first chapter. The book is also available on Wattpad (username: LHNameless, and the title is the same.)  
> Written with love, Lucy x


	2. The Ribbon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up in the middle of the night to find something wrapped around his glasses. He decides to follow it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope that you enjoy this chapter x  
> Written with love, Lucy xx

The bell on the door went unheard when Harry entered Madam Malkin’s, along with Ron and Ron’s overweight rat that he’d been bargained into buying a few hours earlier. Harry had managed to dodge the Witch—who'd appeared to be unusually pleased to finally sell the rat—, and had not yet bought anything but a bag of beeswax chocolates that turned into actual bees if you were to leave them for too long. Harry was, however, about to get fitted for new robes since his previous ones had been destroyed in the War to the point that no amount of work from Mrs. Weasley's magic needles could save them.

Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions—or Madam Malkin's, for short—was immensely crowded, and both Ron and Harry had to squeeze their way past fussing mothers and uncooperative students to find even a small hint of free space in the far corner, and that was only if they stood on a chest of shoes. The chest grunted when they stepped on it, but both of them ignored it and looked back over the heads of the Witches and Wizards.

“Bloody Hell, where have all these people come from? I swear it wasn’t this crowed last year, I can hardly breathe in here!” said Ron, grasping his throat as he was pushed against Harry who blushed a light shade of pink in response.

“Get off me, Ron.” said Harry, shoving Ron back into a chest of drawers that groaned and shuffled along the wall in a most disturbing fashion. “There’s bound to be more people here because of the War. You can’t expect everyone to have a clean uniform after  _that_ , can you?”

Ron bit the inside of his cheek, and his face turned a little sadder when he remembered his brother, Fred, who’d died in combat. “Suppose not, bu—”

Before he could finish, a small wizard with a tall hat had grabbed his hand and was dragging him away, leaving Harry with the nagging desire to know what Ron would have said, had he not have been hurtled off for fitting. He quickly lost sight of Ron’s ginger hair amongst the sea of people, and so he turned the other way to where three students on small platforms were modelling their own robes while tailors pinned and snipped away the fabric using nothing but magic and a few spells.

Usually, the people on the platforms were first years getting fitted for the first time or students who were clumsy and had torn or burnt their robes for various inexcusable reasons. As Harry had noticed, these students were almost always in Slytherin, and as he looked, he could see that the one to the right was one of those people. The boy was tall, sharp-faced, and had unnaturally blond hair, tamed carefully back against his head. Harry had never seen him at Hogwarts before, and he thought that someone like  _that_ should be far more than noticeable. He seemed to be in his last year, and had he not have been trying on robes, Harry would have assumed he’d have finished school no less than a few years before now.

The way that the boy stood among the other people was what had caught Harry’s eye to begin with, but he didn’t realise that he was staring. For one thing, the boy looked almost superior to the first years to his left, and Harry wondered if it was his height or the way that he seemed to glow in the room that made him so visible in the crowds of people. He stood strangely, maybe that was it, statuesque with his shoulders back and eyes looking mercilessly down at the tailor by his feet like he were a young Lord, waiting for a servant to lick his shoes clean—and yet, as Harry watched, he could see nervousness in his behaviour.

Harry couldn’t put a finger on it, on how someone could stand so proudly like this boy was but could look so insecure up there. And so, without having anything else to do, Harry rested his full weight on the cupboard behind him and let his thoughts about the boy wander freely.

The boy’s eyelashes curled up at the tips, a dusty blond that matched his eyebrows but not his hair. His eyes were down, and it was only when he looked up to check the time on the six-handed clock hanging from the wall that Harry saw the colour of them.  
They were a glistening light grey, somewhere between the colour of the Great Lake and the colour of the clouds that ghosted endlessly around the school’s towers. Frankly, they were unusual eyes that Harry had never seen before but would be glad to spend a great deal of time just looking for all of the stars within them.  
The boy closed them and let out a breath of air that clearly showed his distress. He was fidgeting, now, looking like he was more than ready to leave the shop, and by the way that he kept glancing around the room and out at the streets, Harry wondered if he were hiding from someone.

As soon as the Witch by his feet stood up and announced that the robes were ready, the boy threw a bag of gold coins in her hand and left—or more like  _fled_ —the shop. Harry’s eyes followed him until someone grabbed his arm, making him jump so high that he thought for a second he’d burst through the roof.

“Haven’t you been fitted yet?” said Ron, looking out of place in his new robes. Harry looked him up and down. Ron reminded him of something, and that something turned out to be nothing other than a rather large carrot wearing a black tablecloth.

“You look good.” he lied, hoping that his voice hadn’t pitched too much.

Ron seemed to ignore the half-hearted compliment as he was busy stuffing his rat back into his bag, swearing at it when it was obvious it would not cooperate nor fit in the pocket that Ron was squashing it into.

Harry gave his friend a smile that should’ve been sympathetic but turned out to naturally be an endearing one. He had missed Ron so much, Hermione too, and now that he was with him in the Wizarding world, he was sure that nothing could bring his mood down. Except perhaps the endless consciousness that awaited at the back of his mind, constantly reminding him that those lost from War would never return; and that they’d left for Harry’s sake.

*~*~*

Harry turned around in his sleep. He was unsure if he could call it ‘sleep’ when his mind was alive with thoughts, but he couldn’t find the energy to open his eyes and so he must have been dreaming.

It was two weeks into the school start, and Harry felt like he’d been there forever, in the best way. Every corridor seemed to still carry his most treasured memories, he could remember every change in the moving staircases, and everyone had welcomed him with open arms. It was refreshing to see everyone’s smiles, and even if Harry knew that they were hiding their pain and doubt when they saw him, he was alright with it.

Harry stirred again. He tried to think of his friends, but his mind could not part from his dream. It was the same one as he’d had the night before, the night before that, and the one before that. In fact, the dream he was having now was one that’d been there for a month, and he was more than sick of it, to be quite honest.

The flickering light was glistening in his mind, silver and blue blending together, spiralling and merging into one. The Patronus was haunting him, he was sure of it, convinced that someone had cast a spell on him and no matter what he did, he couldn’t get it to wear off. He’d told Ron about his repeated dream, only to hear Ron suggest that he was probably dying. Hermione had been a little more helpful, searching in dream books for an answer, but none of them spoke of the Patronus, and even less of undeveloped ones.

The light that Harry could see was both of those things, and so he had nothing to do but let it invade his dreams like it was doing willingly. It was silent, so were the woods behind it, and Harry could feel its chilling coldness.  
Suddenly, a bright flash of red erupted from the Patronus and screamed in Harry’s mind. Harry snapped awake as the shiver ran down his spine and through his fingers. He sat up, finding himself drenched in sweat and panting. He was in a state of startled shock, like the feeling you get when you trip and fall in your dream. All that he could tell was that whatever the red light was had been something he’d never seen before. It had left an after-effect that he didn’t understand. He didn’t get why he was sweating and panting like he’d ran twice around the lake, or why the sound of the light exploding was still thumping in his ears. But most of all, he didn’t understand why his heart was racing like it was. It ached more than it ever had, but somehow, it was a feeling he did not want to forget.

He reached out to his bedside table to find his glasses but his hand touched something smooth and he jumped again. He let out a quiet squeak and glanced through the blurry dark to see if Ron had woken up, which he hadn’t, and he could sleep through a hurricane so Harry didn’t know why he had even bothered to check. He turned to his pillow and grabbed his wand from under it, whispering ‘ _Lumos_ ’, and a small light appeared at the tip. Harry’s eyes immediately went back to where his glasses should have been, and through the blurriness he could see something long and reg wrapped around the bridge and one of the lenses. He squinted, waiting to see if it moved—which it didn’t—and he put a hand out to touch it. It was only when he touched it for the second time that he knew what it was. A ribbon.

“Huh?” whispered Harry, laying his wand on the table in exchange for the glasses. He untangled the ribbon blindly and put his glasses on his nose. On his lap, the ribbon moved. The tip started to flick weakly, and while Harry stared at it curiously, the ribbon gained more movement, finally slithering like a snake off the bed and through the gap under the door.

Harry looked at Ron with wide eyes as if to ask ‘ _did you see that?_ ’, but he was still fast asleep and drooling over his pillow. Harry couldn't wait for confirmation anyway. He turned back to the door, grabbed his wand, and lept out of bed.

*~*~*

The cold sliced through Harry’s pyjamas and stabbed him with every gust of harsh wind. There was a storm over the school; a round pool of dark clouds spiralling above the towers and letting small but freezing raindrops to shower down on Harry as he stepped over the grass. He was not allowed to wander around at night, and he was aware of the consequences as he’d been caught many times before with Hermione and Ron. He read the Marauder’s map in his hands, but there were no footsteps to be seen besides his own, and this time, he knew that if he were caught for sneaking out, he’d face the consequences alone.

Harry slipped down a small slope, almost falling over, but he kept his eyes peering ahead of him. The ribbon was there, slithering snake-like down the grass by the side of the dorm tower and over to the woods by Professor Sprout’s greenhouses.

“Where are you going?” whispered Harry, as if expecting a reply, “Come back here.” He added, to not finish on an unanswered question. He sped his step up but no matter how fast he seemed to go, the ribbon was faster.

He was nearing the greenhouses now, and beyond them he could see the forbidden forest. No student was allowed to cross the line of trees by the edge, and Harry had certainly learned why. Among those trees were creatures so dark that, if you were to cross their path, you’d never see the light of day again. For sure, there were a few people who had broken the rules and ignored the warnings over time—they’d never returned.

“Don’t go in there!” Harry hissed, catching onto the route that the ribbon was taking, “I can’t go in there, it's forbidden! Hey, stop!” He half whispered, half shouted, but no matter what, the ribbon seemed determined. It had a certain destination in mind and Harry was practically bursting with the need to know where that place was. Just as the ribbon slipped past the brink of darkness, Harry was brought to a sudden stop by a voice coming from the behind greenhouse.

“Ribbons don't have ears, you know.”

*~*~*


	3. The Fifty Swans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry keeps finding paper swans waiting for him all over the school. By the time he gets back to his room, he has fifty of them. He was not aware that they were supposed to be unfolded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! I hope that you like this chapter x

Harry tripped up when he heard the voice, his whole body jolting forward until he smashed into a tree. He heard his nose make a loud cracking sound on the bark, and his first thought was ' _not again_ '. He leant over himself, watching the blood gush out of his nose to pool up in the leaves on the ground. The pain that went through his face at that moment made him cry out rather loudly and clasp a hand over his face.

It was only when he heard a snicker behind him that he remembered the reason why he'd tripped. Pulling a handkerchief over his nose, he stood back up and turned to the greenhouse. And there he was, the boy from Madam Malkin's. He stood as if he had thought of rushing up to Harry but had stopped himself along the way. He had a sly grin on his face that made Harry wonder if his stance really meant what he thought it had. His eyes were bright in the dark shadows he stood in, his hair brighter than that, and Harry wondered why he looked so much like a piece of daytime among the midnight time around them.

"You shouldn't be here." said Harry, sounding nasally and more ridiculous than he imagined possible.

"Who are you to tell me that? You're not a prefect, are you?" asked the boy, leaning on the greenhouse wall and raising an eyebrow. He stood quickly back up when the plants on the other side started snapping at him.

Harry opened his mouth to introduce himself, but for some reason, he said, "I'm James Turner." He felt his whole face flush red then, and the boy eyed him for a long while, obviously trying to associate the name with Harry's face as if to decide if it fitted him or not.

"Draco Malfoy." He suddenly said, putting a hand out to shake Harry's. Harry shook it back, rather startled that he'd managed to convince the boy. Why had he even said that? _Who_ even says things like that? In reality, he suspected that he'd finally found someone who hadn't recognised him, and he was rather curious to see how it felt to be a nobody in the Wizarding World. "What are you in?" Draco asked, drawing back and wiping Harry's blood from his hand on a handkerchief with his initials embroidered on each corner.

"Gryffindor." said Harry, "Last year. You?"

He could guess the answer as the boy was still in his robes, but he asked out of politeness and to distract the boy from staring at him in the way that he was. In a way that Harry couldn't tell was nice or mocking.

"Slytherin." said Draco, sounding far prouder than Harry would've expected seeing that his House was the worst one to be in from pretty much everyone's point of view. "I'm expelled."

Harry choked and blood splattered over his shoes. "You're what?!"

"Expelled."

"But—but you can't be, how'd you get in Hogwarts if you're expelled?!" said Harry, trying to not choke his way to death and humiliation.

Draco knelt down at his feet and Harry was given no choice but to look at him. The boy pulled out his want and muttered 'Brackium emendo'. There was a loud crack in the middle of Harry's face, and Harry could suddenly feel his nose again. "I was expelled five years ago for— _something_." He paused and looked distracted for a moment before saying, "Anyway, my Father heard about it, but I was expelled nevertheless. Dumbledore's fault. I never liked that old man, he's a Mud-blood lover, you know."

Harry frowned, disliking Draco more and more with every word that came along with a snobbish accent. "I have a friend who's a muggle." He said, waiting for the boy to withdraw his insult.

Instead, Draco looked back and made a disgusted face, "You should know the right sort by now, Turner, I personally wouldn't be caught dead with filthy Mud-bloods." He looked Harry up and down, "You're a decent looking person too, for a _Gryffindor,_ I'd have thought you'd do better." He stepped back, "Well, at least you don't stay with the _Weasleys,_ my father hates them. He always goes on about those wacky gingers."

"I do stay with them, as a matter of fact." Harry said, starting to get frustrated, "They're nice people, far nicer than _you_ , what's your problem, Malfoy?"

Malfoy turned back to him, smirking, "Getting cocky with me? You should take that attitude back or you'll end up getting in trouble you could never imagine, _Turner_."

With that, he turned around and Harry lost sight of him in the shadows of the forest.

*~*~*

Harry sat at his desk next to Ron, staring at the beetle that he'd been demanded to turn into a raven. He screwed his eyes, took out his wand and said 'Scarabaeus o corvi'. And as he expected, the spell did not work, and instead the beetle scuttled down the side of the table and wedged itself between the cracks in the floorboards. Harry looked at it, then to Professor Newcus who was blandly ignoring every one of his students to show off how many beetles he could transform in the short amount of time given—and proving that he was quite competent for the job as he now had a whole swarm of ravens around him.

Harry dodged one that flew past him and looked at Ron's poor progress. He was repeating the spell over and over, sounding more frustrated than Harry as he too noticed that nothing was happening. He hit the beetle's back with his wand and a large cloud of bad-smelling steam blew out from beneath the wings and the beetle exploded, its head hitting Ron in the eye.

Everyone turned to look at him and somewhere in the background Seamus said 'Looks like Ron's beaten me to it this time!'  
Harry snorted at Ron and skilfully swerved away from the fist that came quickly after. Hermione had, of course, managed to turn her beetle into a Raven, and was proudly looking back at them as it perched calmly on her shoulder. " _Ron_." she said, stepping forward and slamming her hands on the table. "You're saying it _wrong_ , _Ron_."  
Harry snorted again. Hermione glared at him but turned back to the pieces of beetle on the desk. "It's 'Scarabaeus o corvi', not 'Scarabeeyouso corvi'." She had an air of superiority that made Ron look like more of the idiot that everyone seemed to be mocking him for at that instant. "Look." She said, casting a charm that dragged Harry's beetle from the floorboards and onto the table. She said the spell and the beetle turned into a raven. Ron and Hermione started to argue then with Ron's poor argument that Hermione had somehow cheated and Hermione defending herself with the knowledge that she'd win the argument. Harry quickly left the conversation and it was when he returned to stare at his table again that something dropped down onto it.  
  
A paper swan lay there. Harry looked around the room to see whose it was, but no one was looking back and those who were looking in Harry's direction were staring at Hermione and Ron who'd raised their voices and were yelling rather rudely at each other. Harry looked back at the swan. It's wings were still beating weakly making the paper bird look more like a fish out of water than the elegant swan that it was supposed to be. He poked it and it stopped moving. Harry glanced one last time around the room, decided that the swan was not important to anyone, and he stuffed it into his bag with the conclusion that it'd made a nice piece of decoration for his bedside table.

However, that swan was not the last one he received that day. In that hour alone, he ended up stuffing five swans into his bag, and no matter how much he looked around, no one had seemed guilty in the slightest for sending them. By the end of the day when he and Ron reached their room in the Gryffindor Tower, he had no less than fifty origami birds stuffed into his bag. Then came the long pause of both Ron's questioning and Harry's pleasure as he lined them all in a row along his headboard and on his bedside table.

"What." said Ron, clearly having so many questions going through his mind that he couldn't decide which to ask first. Harry looked back at him with his eyebrows raised. He glanced to where Ron was looking and said, "Oh, these?" He turned back to Ron and with a serious face he said, "These are my swans."

"You made these? When?" Ron waved a hand at them while his other ran through his hair.

Harry shook his head, "No, they fell on my desk, on my head, in my plate.." He said, counting the number of places that he'd found the swans. "I probably found them by coincidence." He shrugged, sitting among his many swans. "They make nice decoration, don't you think?"

Ron looked beside him as if to search for Hermione's help as he always did in situations too confusing for him, but she wasn't there and he looked back frantically at Harry. "Have you tried unfolding one?" He asked as if that was the obvious thing to do. Harry shook his head and Ron sighed heavily. "Open one, they're _notes_ , Harry, not some bloody collector's item."

Harry blinked at them, feeling quite different towards them than he'd felt before. He wondered if they all had something written on them. He picked one from his desk, looked at Ron, and opened the origami swan. But before he had time to turn it over, Ron grabbed it. "Bet you have a secret admirer! No one would send this many and not be madly in love with you, Harry. There's gotta be at least a hundred here." He turned it over but his keen smile faded and turned into a sulk. "Ah, it's blank. App _a_ rentea." He said, pointing his wand at it. He looked at the paper again, flipped it over and shrugged. "Nothing." He tossed it back to Harry and said he was going to have a shower and that Harry should try to not walk in on him this time. He then poked further at Harry, saying that Harry had enjoyed the view, before slamming and locking the bathroom door behind him.

Harry, who had blushed a deep shade of red, looked back at the unfolded swan. If these were indeed notes, then why were there so many and why where they blank? He was about to reach for a new one with the urge to unfold them all in case something was written on at least one of them, when he saw something red on the paper in his lap. He picked it up and letters started to show. The writing was a shade of ruby, curved and delicate, written with the most finest of pens, Harry guessed, as the writing skated over the paper like a ribbon. How could Ron not have noticed the writing? How could you possibly see anything else?

" _Join me by the Great Lake at midnight. Come alone. Signed, M."_

Harry looked at the signature, his mind immediately imagining all of the girls he knew who went by names like Melissa; Melody; Maggie.. _Myrtle_? He shuddered, told himself that his date would have to go alone, but he still looked at the clock on his wall. Midnight was in two hours, and Harry was certainly eager to find out who either had a crush on him or wanted him drowned. He'd never been the type of person to refuse a little adventure, and he'd been in trouble for it many times before so what if he got into a little more? Detention with Snape had never killed anyone (at least not yet, anyway) and Harry had the map with him to tell him where everyone was.

He laughed, put the paper swan down, and lay back on his bed. It was probably just a bad joke, as if he'd actually _go_. He wasn't _that_ dumb.

*~*~*

Harry's will to be in the warmth of his bed increased when the wind picked up as he neared the lake. He was so cold that shivering was no longer an option and he was certain that any further drop in temperature would make his limbs turn black and drop off, which, for the record, would be worse than having his bones dissolved and that in itself had been a rather bad experience for him in the past. A heavy gust of wind made his hood fly off and his hair blow around his face so much that he got flashbacks from Uncle Vernon yelling at him, and before he knew it, he'd reached the lakeside. Harry sheltered himself under a willow tree and looked down into the dark water only to see himself and someone standing beside him. His heart almost jumped out of his mouth when he cried out in surprise and he fell back before a hand quickly snatched him back and away from the water's edge.

Harry caught sight of who it was then and laughed in embarrassment at himself for being so scared. Draco Malfoy let go of his sleeve and looked at him almost angrily, "What the hell do you think you're doing, Turner? Do you want to get us caught?" He half-shouted and half-hissed at Harry who forced himself to stop laughing, only to find that his teeth were chattering more than they had probably every chattered in his life, but he wasn't as cold as he'd been.

"Sorry." He said without giving any sign of an apologetic feeling, "Why are you here again?"

He looked around to see if the person who'd sent out his notes was there, but Malfoy seemed to be the only living thing in view. He looked back at Harry sternly, blocking pretty much Harry's view of anything else (not that Harry was complaining), and seemed to be expecting something. Surely _Malfoy_ hadn't sent out the swans? Harry laughed again, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. His foot shuffled over the grass in repeated motions and he looked up at Malfoy who continued to wait. "Was it you?" Harry asked, not sure which answer would be the most reassuring to him.

"Maybe, maybe not." Draco said, unhelpfully. "Probably." He added after further thought. "But I'd never have thought you'd actually turn up. You've got guts to wander around after hours two nights in one week."

Harry was unsure whether this was supposed to be a compliment or just a remark and so he laughed nervously again. Malfoy was staring him down with those grey eyes of his and Harry was sure that they were casting a weakening spell all the while that they scattered over him. "Ron said you must be a girl. Not that—you know—I'm _looking_ for a girlfriend, I'm not _that_ desperate." He laughed unconvincingly, "—I was just—you know—curious to see who'd send so many birds out to me." He continued to laugh. He was practically dying of embarrassment and the fact that Malfoy didn't laugh with him made it far the more worse.

"Well—I'm not a girl." Malfoy stated. As if to prove his point, he pulled the band of his trousers, grabbed Harry by the back of his head, and shoved Harry's face towards his chest. Harry opened his eyes and yes, Malfoy was indeed not a girl.

"Wh—" Harry pulled away and scrambled back. "What was that for?! Why would you _do_ that?!" He yelped, flushing red. His heart was racing and he was sure that even Ron could hear it from all the way up in the dorms by how loud it was. Malfoy had a smug look on his face when he readjusted his clothes and looked back at Harry.

"Hey, Lady-catcher, have you ever been to the other side of the Forbidden Forest?"

Harry shook his head. He could sense what Malfoy was about to ask, but instead of speaking, Malfoy grabbed Harry's sleeve, manhandled him until he was being shoved from behind, and said "Good, I can't stand this place."


	4. Salazar's Lake

Harry was being dragged through forests that he thought he'd never have to see again. He could feel each twig snap under his feet and each branch that scratched his face. Around him were growling sounds, screeching, blood-curdling noises that made fear run through his spine over and over again. Malfoy was still holding him, dragging him through the darkness but he was perfectly visible. His hair shone in the dark, catching the cold from the moon and heating it with each motion he made with his hand to comb it back in place when the wind brushed it aside. If he had fear, he did not show it. He ran through the woods like he'd lived there forever, like he was unaware of what could jump out and end them at any moment. He was not afraid and Harry found himself wondering how someone could be so full of life in a place where death ruled. Harry, personally, was a second away from wetting himself out of fear. Every sound made his heart sink and resurface only to drown again with a new noise. Everything was scarier in the dark. Moonlight struggled to seep in through the branches of the dead trees but when it caught Harry's eyes, everything merely appeared ghostly and eerier than it had ever seemed to be.

Malfoy did not stop running, dragging Harry by the wrist, unaware that Harry was not the best of runners and would probably die of exhaustion before anything else. Harry tugged his wrist and Malfoy stopped. Harry wasn't sure if he was glad about it or not. "Where are you going?" He panted.

Malfoy—who was not out of breath in the slightest—gave him a demeaning stare. "Merlin, Turner, are you alright?" he asked but his tone was mocking, "For someone that scrawny, I'd have thought you'd be a better runner."

Harry glared at him, hands on his knees, "You have longer legs than me." was the first excuse that came to mind and so he settled with it. "And I'm a seeker on the Quidditch team, not some bloody athlete."

Malfoy didn’t offer any pity and, if anything, he gave Harry a glower that said something along the lines of ‘ _pull yourself together, Turner_ ’. Harry wondered if now would be a good time to admit that his name was, in fact, not actually ‘James Turner’, but he couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing than saying such a thing. He then thought of Malfoy’s name and how it was the same one as Lucius Malfoy, one of Voldemort’s Death-Eaters. Harry thought it unfortunate to carry such a name, especially since Draco had the same platinum hair as Lucius. And same sharp face and snobbish accent. And had glassy grey eyes like him, too. In fact, he looked _very_ much like Lucius, but as far as Harry was aware, Lucius Malfoy had no son and Harry couldn't come to believe that Lucius would ever let any child of his roam like a free rat around the grounds of Hogwarts.

“Why are you staring at me?” said Draco, and Harry fell back down to earth as fast as he’d left. He stood back up straight and rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t.” he lied. “Do you know what a Death Eater is?”

 Draco gave no reaction to the comment and simply watched Harry through the darkness for a time that became too long for Harry to be comfortable with. “No.” He finally denied. “What is it? Doesn’t sound nice.”

 Harry opened his mouth to explain but decided that he couldn’t bother and so he shook his head, “Never mind.” he said, “Just get me out of here, it’s dangerous enough at daytime, let alone now.”

 Malfoy seemed to be staring at Harry, loud thoughts crossing his mind but Harry still couldn’t hear them. After a long, _long_ while, Malfoy flicked his fingers in a beckoning motion and lead Harry away. 

*~*~*

 The other side of the forest was far more impressive than Harry had expected, and it was probably due to the fact that there was a huge lake that he had never been told existed. It ranged far, so far that Harry could barely see the end where a new row of pine trees lined the edge of the water. The lake reflected the moon that seemed to have become twice as large and now took up a great portion of the sky above them. Malfoy took Harry’s sleeve and dragged him down the grass to the edge of the lake. “Lake Asphar, the biggest lake you’ll ever find around here but not many people have seen it.” said Malfoy, looking at his own reflection in the water. “You’ll only find this place is you take a certain path; one foot the wrong way and this whole lake will not be here once you exit the Forest.”

 “How is that possible?” asked Harry, looking beside Draco in the water to see his less good-looking self. He felt foolish for asking such a question when he was in the most magical and mysterious place in the world. However, Malfoy replied without further thought.

 “It was locked in a ‘space fold’ by Salazar Slytherin. Only the path we took will take you here, but any path will lead you out.” He stepped back and sat down on a rock, looking at Harry, “Also, I wouldn’t stand that close to the water, there are fish in there who can smell human flesh from a mile away. You may be scrawny but you’d still make a good meal.”

 Harry scrambled back from the bank of the lake and hesitated before sitting beside Malfoy on the rock. He found it to be smaller than he’d previously thought and was now pressed up by Malfoy’s side, not that he minded how warm Malfoy was against him. “Sit any closer and you’ll be on my lap, _Potter_.”

 Harry’s head snapped to Malfoy only to find those grey eyes close to his and staring him down. Malfoy smirked and raised an eyebrow, “Even I know who the chosen one is, Potter. I may be expelled but I’m not an idiot. I’d recognise that scar of yours anyday.”  
Harry blushed a deep shade of pink and looked at his hands. Malfoy’s hand came into view, hesitant, but they moved towards Harry’s. Harry didn’t move but watched Malfoy move closer. He had long, elegant fingers, clean nails, and he was unsure when he moved closer. His hand stopped above Harry’s, just ghosting there, not touching, simply looking like he was going to. He then turned his palm up to the sky and said, “ _Amans Incendio”  
_ A small ball of fire flamed up in his palm. With his other hand, he grabbed Harry’s wrists, turning his palms up in a cupping motion. “ _Immunis_ ”, Malfoy said, tapping Harry’s hand with a finger. He spoke so close that Harry could feel Malfoy’s breath on his ear. It was warm, vicious, but it was a poison that Harry would have been glad to drink.  
While holding Harry’s wrists, Malfoy tipped his hand and the fire ran like water off of it and pooled in Harry’s cupped palms. It was white with heat but it Harry could only feel a tingle of warmth. He became distracted by the fire in his hands that he stopped shivering.

 His mouth was open, his eyes wide behind his glasses, admiring the pool of fire swirling in his hands. “Is it warm?” asked Malfoy. Harry nodded and Malfoy smiled. “Take a look at this.” He took out his wand, pointed it at Harry’s hands and said, “ _Ignis anima”._ Then, a mermaid leapt in the small pool of fire. She was as small as a pin in Harry’s hands. A few moments later, both of them were watching a variety of creatures swimming around in Harry’s hands. Malfoy laughed softly, his chin resting on his palm as he pointed at a snake-like creature who tried to bite him back in response. Harry was in awe, his eyes glistening with the lights of the warm fire in his hands, his heart in love with everything he could see. He looked at Malfoy.  
Malfoy’s eyes were down, his skin glowing from the fire, and Harry’s eyes immediately snapped back down when Malfoy’s hands cupped themselves around his own. Slowly, Malfoy closed them like he were closing a book, and the fire went out. Harry looked at Malfoy again, and this time Malfoy looked back.

 

Harry’s heart was racing with the heat of the fire he’d held, it was burning so much that he was sure it’d ignite. Malfoy’s eyes were cold, cooling the remainders of warmth in Harry’s cheeks, freezing their way into Harry’s own eyes, bewitching him with a stare that Harry wanted to stare at forever. There was something about Malfoy that made Harry almost glad that it’d been him to send the swans and not anyone else.

 Malfoy turned away and stood up, and it was only then that Harry realised how long he’d been staring. Malfoy walked to the edge of the lake, standing at a safe distance. He picked up a pebble and threw it across the water. It hopped off the surface five times before sinking with a loud ‘plop’. “It’s getting late.” He said, although it had been getting late even before Harry had gone to his potential ‘date’.

Malfoy put two fingers to his mouth and whistled, eyes on Harry. The shriek of his whistle was quickly followed by the shriek of a bird and a flapping of wings. Harry felt the wind blow around him when a very large and very fat Manticore landed on the ground beside Malfoy. It came with a thud that even Harry, who was still perched on the rock, could feel. Malfoy mounted the creature, sitting behind its head, and looked expectantly at Harry as if he were waiting for him to climb of as well.

 “Er—” Harry said, flinching back when the manticore turned its head to him. “You do know that Manticores are man-eaters, right?” He asked that, and yet he did not move away. It was perhaps the beast’s weight that reassured him, telling him that if they both ran, Harry would win; or it may have been the fact that Malfoy was sitting on its back calmly that sent Harry to the state of a curiousness that made him unwilling to leave. He peered at it, squinting through the darkness. The manticore had bat-like wings, a body and mane of an ancient Lion, and a squashed pug-like face that resembled Uncle Vernon. Its scorpion tail flicked with the wind, dripping in venom that would paralyse anyone who’d come too close. “Is it trained?” He asked, noticing a thick chain around the Beast’s neck.

 “Only by the best.” Malfoy replied in a way which insinuated that he was the one to have trained the manticore. “Climb on, watch the tail.” He put a hand out to Harry who had no other choice to mount the beast, flinching back when the disturbingly human face turned to grunt at him.

 He was not given time to adjust to the Manticore’s thick body before the beast took off. It left the ground with a growling roar, laughter from Malfoy, and a high-pitched scream from Harry’s behalf. The water of the lake parted to give the Manticore a path to fly down, the wind moved aside when she flew through it, and the moon seemed to move alongside her to give her the light that she needed. Harry finally gained his balance and loosened his grip that had probably left nail marks in Malfoy’s sides. He looked down at the water of the lake below them. If he put out a hand, he could touch it. He shifted, bent over himself, fingers splayed, beckoned by the water’s depth, by the silver colour, by the creatures in it.

 Malfoy grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?” He spat out, almost angrily. “You’ll fall, idiot.”

 Harry scowled and tugged his hand back. “I’m not an idiot, and unlike _some_ , I’ve not been expelled either.” He received a bitter glare in return but Harry couldn’t help the smile from crawling on his own face. Malfoy looked alarmed but his expression softened and he quickly turned away. “Just enjoy it, it won’t last forever.”

Harry was unsure what ‘it’ was, but he couldn’t have cared less at that moment. He was riding a Manticore over a hidden lake, he was supposed to be in bed, right now. He smiled, lifted his arms, and shouted a very eager “WAHOO!”

Malfoy flinched down at the volume of Harry’s voice coming from directly behind him but Harry was too busy having the time of his life to notice. Harry knew there were better things in life, more exciting things, but he had somehow found this to be the most exhilarating thing he’d ever done. He didn’t want to get off the Manticore, he didn’t want to see the water beneath them calm itself, and he didn’t want to go to bed.

 But just like everything, it came to an end.

 Harry was dropped off by his dorm’s tower, and he’d pretended to not care when he’d watched the Manticore and Malfoy turn away. But for some reason, there was still a fire in his heart and he couldn’t help the words from firing out of him. “Are you ever coming back?"

Malfoy never replied. He simply gave Harry a sneering smile and a quick dismissive wave before flying off.

Harry watched him fly off. He wasn’t necessarily _attached_ to Malfoy, but he did want to see what the boy could do, what other spells could make Harry feel the way that he’d felt. He wanted to discover how Malfoy had remained undercover for this long, where he hid, and where he’d come from. Harry was not attached to Malfoy but he was most certainly intrigued by him, and that was what kept him awake that night.


	5. The Screaming Patronus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry shows his insecurities and finds that the Patronus in his dreams doesn't always stay silent.

Harry stared at full plate of Mrs Perrimay's Potato and Cranberry Pudding, forcing his eyes to remain open while wondering if the huge portion of food would make a good airbag once his face falls into it. He could hardly stay awake, feeling as if he weren't actually in the dining room but in some sort of vivid dream where his pudding was the main attraction. He'd forced himself to stay awake all day and had even transformed his little finger into a frog's leg by accident, to which he'd ended up in the infirmary and yet still hadn't been offered a bed. He'd felt dead all day, and now, he was practically in his grave. Everything was a distant blur, the voices only rumbling hums, and the only thing that Harry could truly focus on was how the pudding would make a truly comfortable pillow if only he could just rest his hea—

"What are you  _doing_?" A hand grabbed Harry's hair and yanked his head back. Harry yelped and found the hand to be Ron's, or at least, a blurry cloud with bright ginger hair. Harry blinked slowly at him from behind his glasses, "Huh?" He asked, closing his eyes and assuming that Ron's hand around his hair would support his upper body-weight as he hung there comfortably. He could hear Ron's voice but didn't understand any words, not that he tried to listen. He could hear Hermione then, her voice sounding sharp, and then they were both shouting at each other and Harry found himself to be yanked up from the bench he was sitting on.

"—going to your room—dying—you later—sleep—" Harry heard a string of words from Hermione but couldn't make any sense of them. He was dragged to his room, almost falling to his death when he stepped onto a staircase that he found to not be there. He was shoved through the door of his room shared with Ron, his mind still stuck on the pudding that he'd abandoned on his plate, hoping that there was a spell to somehow teleport it to his bedside table. He recognized his rows of swans on his headboard and let out a pleased "Aw—" before he was pushed onto the bed.

After that, he remembered nothing.

The next thing he saw was his dream, the dream he'd seen every night, the one with the Patronus. It was there among the dark woods, glistening a blue light. It swirled desperately, trying with everything it had to turn into something,  _anything_ , but it couldn't. Harry tried to step forward but his feet were trapped. He looked down at himself to see why he couldn't move but nothing was restraining him. He was trapped there, planted to the ground, unable to near the light he saw.   
But somehow, the Patronus was different from before. It was making a sound; a snuffling noise like someone were crying. Harry could hear it more and more clearly, the sound of someone so sad that the Patronus faded in colour. It dulled and the wailing got louder. The darker the Patronus got, the louder the crying until Harry had to cover his ears to block it out. A slamming of a door startled him and the crying stopped with a gasp. He stared at the Patronus. There was a silence, then footsteps. The Patronus flashed with every sound that came from it. Harry heard a voice, low, different from before, sounding serious and unloving. Then, there was a loud crackling and a scream.

A pained, blood-curdling  _scream_.

Harry woke up. He was drenched in a cold sweat, his heart was racing so heavily that it hurt, and the night enclosed around him. He could only see a thin strip of light that the moon cast on his wall. He sat up, shaken from the scream which had seemed so real that it was on a continuous loop in his mind. He'd never, not ever, heard a sound so terrifyingly painful in his whole life, and that was saying something. With it still trapped in his mind, he looked to his left to Ron. He was asleep in his bed, snoring loudly and drooling on his pillow as always. Harry smiled, shaking his head. He was, for a fact, so awake now that he believed to never need sleep again. He got out of bed, cast a spell over himself to clear the sweat from his body, only to suddenly realise that he was in his pyjamas and therefore someone must have seen him naked. He hoped that the  _someone_  wasn't Hermione.

The floor creaked beneath his feet when he made his way to the window. The grounds far below were eerie in the dark; Harry could see night creatures wander around in search of food and it took a lot of denial for Harry to convince himself that he hadn't been out there with them the night before. The sky above the school was as dark as the grounds below, looking like a whirlpool of clouds that endlessly spun their way around each tower and hill. It looked cold out there, Harry thought, cold and dangerous. There were no remains of the war anywhere but Harry could remember the fall of the tower to his left as if it had happened just yesterday. He'd lost so many. Every time he thought of it, flashbacks would invade his mind—pleads of forgiveness from people who hadn't deserved to die would haunt his hearing, the taste of blood would leak through his tongue, the sight of bodies scattering the ground would stand behind his eyes. He could see it all again, over and over, and he could only convince himself that this was his fault; that lives who wanted to live on were ended—all because of him.

He wiped his cheeks, noticed his hand to be grasped over his chest when the beating of his heart was found in his palm. He turned his face to Ron, hoping that he wouldn't wake up to see Harry crying again. He didn't want Ron to remember the war, he wished that everyone could forget it and pretend like it had never happened but there was a truth behind their memories that stood there like a dark shadow. Remembering the war meant remembering their loved ones, and should they forget the darkest time of their lives, they'd forget everyone who'd died that day. And so, Harry had no choice but to let his trauma devour him day-to-day. He'd live the rest of his life with the tormenting guilt that he'd killed off those who'd supported him this whole time. Harry Potter, the chosen one, had failed to save the only family he had left.

He put a hand out to the glass and watched the frost build around it. He put his other hand beside it, took them both away, and with shaking fingers, he drew a heart around them both. In the heart, he wrote 'for you'.

Then, when he backed away from the window and wiped the tears from his cheeks, it started to snow. The dark skies parted and the moon shone brighter. The stars glistened like raised wands, the snow fell harder despite the clouds stepping aside for the stars to shine. Harry could see his friends up there, he was sure of it, that every glistening light in the sky was one of his loved-ones who'd passed away. At least, that's what he could remember his mother telling him once. She'd said that every star in the sky was the heart a person too worthy to stay on earth, and Harry knew now that she'd been right all along.

He smiled and picked up his own wand, raising it in the air and letting the dimmest light shine from the tip. He blew a kiss up there, wondering if he'd have to blow a million more and telling himself that he had the time.

After a long while where he'd just sat at the window, looking at the grounds below and the creatures there, Harry turned back to his bed. He sat down, pulled the blankets up, and almost shouted out when something red slithered onto his lap. The red ribbon was there, appearing like it had been disturbed from a rest as it coiled up into a ball on Harry's lap. Harry stared down and held the light of his wand to it, wondering how long it had been there. The ribbon stopped slithering for a moment but the centre rose and sank back down like it were breathing. Harry put a finger out and poked it. The tip of the ribbon rose up and turned to him. Harry somehow felt threatened by it and drew his hand back. "Hello." He said, "Who are you?"

The opposite end of the ribbon flicked repeatedly from side to side. Harry watched it, but seeing no way that it could talk, he spoke again to fill the awkward silence, "My name is Harry Potter, I've just turned seventeen. I'm not  _the_  Harry Potter though. Well, I am, but I shouldn't be; I don't live up to my reputation." He laughed sadly and the front of the ribbon tilted to the side. "I wonder where you came from? I'm from the muggle world but no one really likes me there. I only burn the bacon as serve as Dudley's punching bag. Sometimes, you know, I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't have come to Hogwarts, I wonder what would have happened to me if I'd have stayed there. Then, I just think that I'd be the same, I'd still be Harry, just Harry." He pulled his knees up and hugged them, watching the ribbon slither snake-like over the covers to stop in the middle of the bed again. "What if I'd never have come here? No one in the world would like me.." Harry muttered to himself, "What if no one liked me in the muggle world?" He said, lifting his head. He looked at the ribbon, eyes wide, "What if no one liked me? What if no one likes me here and they're all pretending because I'm famous? What if they only want to use me for fame and then they'll flush me down the toilets and I'll have to live with Moaning Myrtle but even she wouldn't like me because no one actually likes me?!"

"Harry?" said Ron's voice from the bed across the room. Harry clasp a hand on his mouth, grabbed the ribbon and stuffed it under his pillow. He looked to where Ron's silhouette was. He'd sat up and was rubbing the back of his neck, yawning. "Good morning." said Harry, smiling innocently. He pressed a hand over his pillow when he caught sight of the ribbon slithering out. "How are you?"

Ron yawned again, peering suspiciously at Harry through the darkness. "Harry, it's three in the morning."

Harry felt a drop of sweat drip down the side of his forehead and he smiled wider. The bloody ribbon was slipping out beneath the pillow. "Is it?" He asked, trying to act surprised, "Goodnight, then." With that, he spun around on himself, hit his head on the pillow and grabbed the ribbon just before it could slip down the side of the bed. He could feel Ron's eyes on him until there was a grumbling list of swear words and the sound of a blanket being pulled up. Harry waited a little while longer, hands clenched around the ribbon, until he heard Ron snoring again.

"You're a ribbon, why are you so disobedient?" Harry hissed, "Just—" He looked around the room and rested his eyes on the draw in his bedside table. "Stay in there." He pulled it open, threw the ribbon in and slammed the door shut before it could get out. Harry locked the draw with his wand, waited a bit, and when the ribbon didn't leave, he decided that he could go to sleep.

And he did. He saw the Patronus and this time, the only sound that it made was the gentle skimming sound of water on a lake. It made no other noise, and when Harry woke up in the morning, the ribbon was gone.


	6. Grobtus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finds out about 'Grobtus' and is woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of gears and and engine.

Art available on Instagram: LHNAMELESS

*

 

Harry sat at his desk with his eyes fixed on the window as always, his mind lost in another world where things weren't as dull as they were in the Wizarding one. He couldn't have been the only one to have realised the lack of adventure and fun that the School had been gifted with before the War. Surely everyone else had noticed how the candles that used to change colour now burned only orange, how the ghosts that visited the dining room had stopped their entertainment, and how the fat lady at the Gryffindor tower had stopped singing 'the sun has got its hat on' at every given opportunity.

Everything had seemed to fade in colour since the end of the War, and Harry could hardly contain himself from screaming something along the lines of "DO SOMETHING!" every time he crossed the path of someone who used to be more than a nobody. All in all, Harry was bored out of his mind and at that moment, had his thoughts not have been somewhere completely different, he'd have probably passed out from lack of entertainment.

"Potter!" said an impatient voice from the front of the room. Harry's head snapped to it, only to have a bottle of obnoxiously pink liquid shoved in his face. It smelt like gingerbread and butterbeer which, to Harry, made a delicious combination. "Can you tell me what this is,  _Potter_?" The voice asked from somewhere behind the bottle.

Harry leant back in his seat, trying to get away from the potion that was somehow drawing his attention. "McGonagall's perfume?" He tried, swatting it away with his hand.

The look of both disgust and alarm from the Professor's behalf gave him the reply that it was not, in fact, McGonagall's perfume but something else. He therefore turned to Hermione and silently begged for help as he had the tendency to do quite a lot.

"It's a love potion, Sir." said Hermione, raising her hand although the action went forgotten. The Professor, along with the few people who actually attended potions class, turned to her. Hermione smiled proudly. " _My_  guess is that the bottle you're holding is  _'Grobtus'_ , the darkest and most evil of love potions. Grobtus is combined of two words:  _'Gravamen'_  meaning 'burden', and  _'obtutus'_  meaning 'glare'. The Burden's glare. This love potion is one that makes whoever consumes it fall in love with their darkest fear. It is a dangerous potion for those who do not use it wisely and many have died upon it. The potion acts as a relief for some but as a death trap to others."

The Professor nodded repeatedly and Hermione sat down. "Well  _done_ , Miss Granger." He said, "You've always been a most remarkable student." Hermione blushed, seeming somewhat less enthusiastic than she'd been a few moments ago. Harry snorted but Hermione quickly got the upper-hand and stared him down to a sharp stop.

The Professor, after hitting Harry over the head with a spell book, continued the explanation. "This potion is made with the scales of the most cold-blooded dragons, boiled and stirred in with one of the rarest ingredients known to wiza—"

"Unicorn blood." said Hermione, "It's made with a drop of unicorn blood."

"Right you are again, Miss Granger." said the Professor, causing Hermione to blush even further. "This potion is so rare that it is not to be used for any little fear such as spiders, for example—Mr  _Weasley_. It is a potion that must be consumed by only those in the greatest of pain, those whose souls were broken by fear and could never be repaired. Do not be fooled by this potion's beauty for if you consume it without precaution, it'll send your fear to devour you."

The Professor's eyes turned to Harry and rested there for a long while. Harry blinked back, opened his mouth and closed it again before saying, "Right. Great, well.. Great. Don't touch the pink potion, got it. Right."

"This is no joke, Potter." said the Professor, sealing the jar with a flick of his wand.

"I am no comedian, Sir." said Harry.

*

A bright flash shone over Harry's bed and went out instantly. Harry stirred in his sleep. The flash of light came again, casting a white glow over Ron and Harry's bedroom for a few seconds until darkness returned. Harry stirred. Then came the low rumble of gears changing and the light followed by flashing on and off. This time, when Harry stirred, he awoke. He woke up but did not care and turned over to fall back to sleep. It was only when the gears rumbled and creaked for a second time that Harry saw the bright flash light up his room.

He sat up and turned to the window, putting his glasses on his nose so he could peer out through the darkness. The curtains were drawn back and Harry saw it then—a blue ford, hovering and chugging outside his window. The paint was chipped and the number-plate hung off its hinges but Harry would recognize that car anywhere. He turned to Ron—who was snoring his head off and sounding more like a troll than a human—and shrugged him off. He stood up, put his feet in his slippers when he grabbed his dressing gown, and he skipped to the window, looking far happier than he should. He couldn't see anyone in the car and assumed that it was empty when he waved at it. He glanced back at Ron, wondered if he should wake him but just as he was about to, something knocked on the window.

He turned back and saw a face pressed to the glass. Harry almost screamed when he saw it but stopped himself just in time. He found himself staring for an unnaturally long time before understanding that he was being talked to. He was being told to go downstairs. Harry pointed at his outfit but received a dismissive shrug in return. He was about to reply when the car dipped forward and plummeted to the ground before coming to a smooth stop on the grass.

Harry had no choice then, he  _had_  to go. He took his wand, wrapped his invisibility cloak around himself, and left the room.

Once again, ice cold air cut through him when he reached the bottom of the tower. He shut the door behind himself and walked around the tower. The car was there, rumbling a little too loudly for it to be safe and looking far more bashed up than Harry had thought. Then again, it had been in the Forbidden Forest for half a decade. Harry walked up to it, hidden under his cloak, and stopped a few feet away. He took his hood off. "Hi." He said awkwardly.

A pair of grey eyes turned to him and widened. "Haven't you forgotten something?"

Harry looked down at himself, "Oh, right." he said, noticing that he had no body. He took his cloak off and felt the wind cut through him at twice the speed. He looked back up and blushed at what he saw.

Draco Malfoy was there, leaning on the car with something that looked like a wizard form of a cigarette between his teeth. His hair brushed forward with the wind, blowing over his face, carving out the sharp lines of his cheeks and jaw. His eyes were pulled to narrow slits, reading Harry like a book that had not been willing to open. He was dressed in a Slytherin uniform again, a long green scarf billowing behind him and robes pushed against every curve of his body. Harry's stomach clenched and he was surprised to feel his heart beat harder in his chest.

"What is that?" asked Harry, walking up to Malfoy to observe the 'cigarette' between his teeth.

"This?" said Malfoy, taking it out and looking at it. "It's an oagwik. Have you never seen one? Tastes like toffee apples." He showed it to Harry. It was short and stumpy, rainbow-like tobacco wrapped in a foil casing. "Watch this." Draco lifted it to his lips and inhaled. He pulled the oagwik away and blew the smoke out.

The smoke was a baby pink with chips of gold. It formed into the shape of a rabbit. The rabbit hopped around then morphed into dove. Harry watched in awe until the dove flew up in the air, exploded with a loud 'pop', and disappeared into a cloud of grey smoke.

"The colour changes with your mood." said Malfoy, watching the smoke disappear. "Pretty fun. You should try it sometime." He had a strange tone then that left Harry wondering what he was implying. "And the animals?" He asked.

Malfoy turned to the car and opened the door. "I like pretty things."

Harry opened his mouth to say something but was directed to the other side of the vehicle that somehow was more than eager to greet him back. The car opened its door, almost whacking Harry out of the way, before closing again as soon as Harry sat in the passenger's seat.  
It was only when the feeling of nostalgia had passed Harry that he realised the whole situation he was in. He was with  _Draco_   _Malfoy_ , the boy who'd been expelled and had taken him to a lake in the middle of nowhere.  _Draco_   _Slytherin_   _Malfoy_.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, deciding a little too late that he should've asked the question before.

"Picking you up, of course." Malfoy replied dryly, flicking various switches on the car. "I heard you were bored."

Harry nodded slowly, "Who told you?" he asked.

However, he was not given time to hear a reply because the car suddenly jolted forward, then back, and up in the air. Harry gripped onto the seat and Malfoy cursed out before the car finally got its bearings and was floating calmly above the ground. Malfoy's face was determined when he pulled the gears and the breaks simultaneously, and for some  _strange_   _reason_ , Harry was given the impression that Malfoy did not actually know how to drive.

The car spat out a cloud of smoke, did a roll on itself, and started to soar straight upwards. Harry was pressed up against the seat, gripping onto the seat-belt so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and wondered if he'd live to get breakfast in the morning.

"HEY, MALFOY? DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING?" He yelled, eyes shut tight so he wouldn't have to see the clouds nearing at a terribly fast speed.

He heard a laugh then that made him open his eyes and turn his face. Malfoy sat there, pressed to the seat as the car rocketed upwards, with the biggest smile that Harry had ever seen spread across his face. "NOT AT ALL!" Malfoy shouted back, "BUT ISN'T THAT THE EXCITING PART?"

He said that, and Harry's heart did a flip in his chest that matched the car's movement.   
It was when they were high over Hogwarts that the car decided to stop. It balanced itself parallel to the ground far below and flashed its headlights proudly. Harry relaxed, "I suppose that was revenge for abandoning you in the first place, huh?" He patted the dashboard.

"You flew her into the Whomping Willow, Potter. Dumbledore was  _not_  pleased and neither was the car. She took a lot of persuading to even open the doors for me, thanks to  _you_ and your idiotic friend." said Draco, accusingly. "Still, I don't care. I'm here now, with  _you_ , I guess."

"Why are you saying it like that?" Harry asked, sounding utterly offended. " _You_  came to pick  _me_  up." He scowled and folded his arms. Draco's cold eyes came to watch him intently. 

"I told you, I heard you were bored." He said, clearly not revealing every thought going through his mind.

"What about you, then? Why are you taking on the responsibility? We don't know each other." said Harry, almost hurt that he didn't know Draco more.

Draco seemed unfazed and turned back to the night scenery out of the window. He flicked the headlights off and they were plunged into darkness. "You're right, we don't. In fact, I doubt that anyone would know you less than I do. I've been expelled for five years and I spend almost all of my time here. I've not been Potter-hunting. I honestly don't care." He shifted on his seat and moved to a shadow where Harry could no longer see his face. "Whether it be you or any other person, I'd have brought anyone up here so don't take it personally. I've been bored as well, you know."

"Oh, so I'm a substitute for your boredom." said Harry, getting more and more aggravated for some reason. "Nice to know, now take me back."

"No." said Malfoy. Harry turned his head to him. "What do you mean 'no'?" He asked. He put a hand out to grab the wheel of the car but Malfoy's hand shot out from the darkness and caught his wrist, squeezing it. "Just like I said, Potter. I'm not letting you go, I don't want to leave just yet."

Harry pulled out of Malfoy's grip and felt the anger bubbling inside of him, "Malfoy, you let me go, right now!"

But Malfoy shouted louder, "You don't understand! If I let you go now, when I get home, my father is going to beat me!"

It was the urgency and pain in his voice that caused a long silence right after. Both boys stared at each other for a while until Malfoy shrank back against the car seat.

"Beat you?" asked Harry. For some reason, he was not as surprised as he thought he'd be, as if he'd heard the information before. "Why would he beat you?"

The light of the moon had found its way to Malfoy's face and was now reflecting the fear in his eyes. "Nevermind." He said, turning to the steering wheel, "Forget it. Please. I'll take you back."

He turned the engine of the car and it started with a loud crack. Harry watched Draco for a while, wondering about what had just happened, until he got a new thought. "Wait—" he said, "I've got a better idea."


	7. Transfiguration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco unwillingly helps Harry with the fulfilment of his 'brilliant idea', but ends up being the most excited one of the pair when he realises something about what Harry has done.
> 
> And with a face like that, Harry couldn't possibly disagree.

“This is a stupid idea, Potter.” said Malfoy, shaking his once-clean shoe as he trudged over the grounds behind Harry. A pile of mug splattered on the back of Harry’s pyjamas when Draco shook his foot but he was far too motivated to care and only gave Draco a somewhat of a sympathised smile to compensate for how dirty and disheveled they were both becoming.

 “This isn’t a stupid idea, in fact, it’s a _brilliant_ idea.” Harry corrected, “Probably the best I’ve ever had. And, Draco, if everything goes according to plan––which I doubt but there you go––then it’ll be not only brilliant but incredible.” He waved Draco on with a flick of his finger, almost slipping on the mossy rocks that lead to Hagrid’s hut. Harry had always been very good friends with Hagrid ever since the half-giant had barged into his house, but at that precise moment, he had someone else he was willing to see. “Now, sush.” He said, ducking behind a rock when they were only a few yards from the little house.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, folded his arms, and yelped when he was tugged down. He looked at himself through the moonlight and shivered. “You’ve got my robes dirty, bloody Potter.. I hope you eat slugs.”

Harry looked at Malfoy, “Well, to be fair, you _ha_ _ve_ been expelled so it doesn’t really matter what you look like.” He said, only to receive a sharp jab in the ribs by Malfoy’s elbow. He scowled and turned back to Hagrid’s hut. Malfoy watched Harry flick his wand, whispering the spell that he’d remembering writing on his hand once, and he then spoke. His voice, however, was not human but instead resonated as a high whistle. It was so high-pitched that Draco could barely hear it. After a few moments, Harry stopped and coughed his voice back to normal.

“Look,” He said, appearing far too excited when Hagrid’s door opened with a creak. Both boys watched as an unusually large Great Dane stuck its head around and searched for the whistle. Harry stood up, sliding down the rock. Draco watched from afar. He’d never liked the bloody dog nor had he ever liked Hagrid and had no bloody intention of going down there.

“Come here, Fang.” Harry whispered, patting his knees and attempting––rather poorly––to call the dog. Fang looked at him with dazed grey eyes. “Come on, Fang. Here, Fangy Fang. Come on, boy.” Harry beckoned, watching the dog slowly shuffle around the door and down the steps. Harry pointed his wand at the door, whispered a spell, and the door closed. He looked back at Draco with a wide grin on his face only to see that Draco was far less impressed. “What?” He asked, tapping his knees while Fang approached him slowly. He watched Draco stand up straighter and wave his hand in a dismissive manner.

“This is such a stupid idea.” He said.

Harry smiled a little more, “But still, you agreed. You’re dying for a little fun, it’s written all over your face.”

“What’s written on my face is probably regret from picking you up in the first place.” said Malfoy, sitting down on the rock with a very obvious pout on his face. Harry turned back to the dog and lead it to a safe distance. Fang sat beside Draco, leant against his leg, and sprawled over his lap.

 “Oh, no. Get him off me. Potter, he’s slobbering, this is disgusting.” Malfoy shook his legs frantically but Fang had somehow fallen asleep and was not ready to move.

“Wait a second.” said Harry, taking out his marauder’s map. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” Footsteps appeared on the map and Harry then took a few minutes to find the pair that he was searching for. “The Quiddich pitch.” He said, standing up quickly. “Fang, come on.” He said the dog’s name and Fang huffed before slowly standing up, leaving thick and slimy residues of saliva on Malfoy’s robes. Malfoy groaned but followed the over-enthusiastic Potter to the Quiddich grounds while standing as far away from Fang as he could without being on the other side of Hogwarts.

Both boys, along with Fang, slipped through the curtain partings at the base of one of the towers. It was unusually warm in there and stuffy despite the cold outside. Harry sat down on the grass and whispered “Lumos.” His wand lit up and he once again saw Malfoy in all of his bad temper and somewhat despair. Fang collapsed in the middle of the tent-like tower, huffed, and fell asleep. 

“Now we wait for Filtch to be almost ready to leave. He’s moping around the field for some reason.” said Harry, turning back to the map. He watched the caretaker’s footsteps wander around the field for a while, wondering what he could possibly be doing at an hour like this and in a place like that. He felt Draco’s eyes on him the whole time––the endlessly cold stare of someone who was either judging him or overthinking things. “Yes?” He asked, looking up at Draco who had not moved since they’d entered the tower.

Malfoy scowled and turned his face away. Harry looked at him. He was tall, lean, and even while covered in dirt and slobber, he was still far more tidy than Harry had ever been. Harry wondered why Malfoy didn’t want to go home. He clearly wasn’t someone who’d willingly live outdoors and yet, Harry had found out that Draco owned a small shack by the Lake Asphar. Harry was practically bursting with the desire to know where Draco came from, to know what he hid, to see what other wandless magic he could do and where he’d learned such a skill. The more time Harry spent with Draco, the more those desires to learn about him nagged at his mind. He could see that Draco was giving himself a bad name with his attitude but Harry could also tell that Draco wanted to be with him then, under that tower, anywhere where he could find somewhat of a friend. Draco had probably never had a friend before Harry. 

“You can sit with me, you know.” said Harry, patting the grass beside himself. Draco looked away from Fang to rest his eyes on the patch of grass. “I think I can decide where to sit for myself, thank you.” He said rudely. Harry watched him patiently, the map spread open in his hands, and Malfoy slowly gave in and sat beside Harry. “I’m not sitting beside you, I’m sitting away from _that_.” He clarified, pointing at Fang who was now drooling in his sleep. “Disgusting mongrel.”

“You’ll soon be seeing him differently.” said Harry, poking Draco repeatedly in the side as he made his poor attempt to wink. Malfoy turned his face away, “Bloody Potter. You do realise the amount of trouble that you’ll be in if we’re caught?”

“It’s not anything new.” Harry shrugged and pointed to the map. “Look!” He grabbed Malfoy’s arm and shook him vigorously, “Filtch is leaving! Stay here, don’t let Fang leave.”

Malfoy watched Harry stand up and leave the tent, whispering to his wand until the light extinguished.

 

*

 

A few moments later, he was back with a cat in his arms and a magnificent scratch on his right cheek. Draco looked at the cat, not liking the way that her red eyes seemed to cut right through him. “Let’s just hope that Filtch doesn’t look for her or you’re dead meat.” he said, trying to move out of the cat’s view. “I should applaud you, to be quite honest, I never thought your plan would make it this far. I’m somewhat impressed, Potter. To think you’d have the skills and mischief of a Slyhterin..” He stood up and took out his wand. Harry gave an awkward laugh.

“My plans always work.” he said, not fooling anyone. He dropped the manky cat that hissed angrily back. Fang looked up and both boys tensed. However, the old hound could not seem to care less and went back to sleep. Mrs Norris hissed again and licked her paw.

 “This is such a stupid idea.” Malfoy said for the third time. “But I must say that I’m curious.”

“Then let’s do it. On three.” said Harry. They pointed their wands at the animals and counted to three. They both said the spell and moments later there was a loud squawking noise and both animals started to morph upwards. Harry and Draco stepped back and watched as Mrs Norris the cat and Fang the gallumphing dog transformed into humans.

 “Woah.” said Harry, “Weird.”

Malfoy peered at Mrs Norris who now looked less like a cat and more like a confused and disheveled twenty year old woman. “Weird but strangely alluring.” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Can they talk?” asked Harry, watching both Mrs Norris and Fang (who’d turned into an elderly man with a little too much body hair for either Draco or Harry’s comfort). They stood in the middle of the tower looking more confused than either boy thought possible, looking at themselves in their fur-skin clothes.

“Doubt it.” Malfoy finally replied. He walked up to Mrs Norris and put a hand out. “Draco.” He introduced with a voice so sensual that it made Harry rather jealous that it was not directed towards him. Mrs Norris’ red eyes turned to the hand held out to her and bared her teeth. Despite looking like she’d been in a bad explosion, she was undoubtedly beautiful and Draco couldn’t stop staring. He waited for a few seconds and decided that either they could not talk or they were pretending not to know how. “Can you understand?” he asked, taking his hand away.

“I don’t think they can.” said Harry from where Fang stood.

“Then I guess that I can say this––” Draco turned to Mrs Norris and said, “As a person, you’re utterly beautiful and my shack door would always be open to you; but as a cat, you stink and your master does to.”

“We do know what yer saying, foul little bugger.” Fang suddenly said, taking both Harry and Draco by surprise.

 “ _You_ stink and you have _dirt_ on your robes. Right there.” said Mrs Norris in a voice as gorgeous as her face. She pointed a finger at Draco’s robes and he blushed.

Harry and Draco backed away from the transfigured pets, almost regretting their decision, and stared at them.

“You don’t really stink.” said Harry comfortingly, not taking his eyes away from Fang. He had the same dog-like features such as the drooping eyes and cheeks, the turkey neck, and the same pale grey complexion. Mrs Norris looked very feline-like, herself, her brown hair riding scruffily down her back, her canines a little too sharp to be considered as normal, and her eyes that same unnatural red. Malfoy kept looking at her and she was clearly attracted to him in a more desperate, willing to enter the shack, kind of way.

“What do you plan on doing with them now?” Malfoy asked when they’d settled in with the activity of all staring at one another.

Harry turned his face to him and Malfoy looked back and frowned. “Erm..” said Harry, shaking his head and shrugging. “I just thought I’d––you know––just––”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows and put a hand over his face. “Merlin, Potter, you’ve transfigured the caretaker’s cat and Hagrid’s dog––purely to see what they look like, may I say––and you hadn’t made a plan after that?”

Harry frowned and opened his mouth to retaliate but found that none of his arguments made any sense since he was at fault. “At least I’m not the one with a crush on a cat.”

“Who said I’m crushing on a cat?!” Malfoy yelled in a voice too loud to seem natural. “She’s a bloody cat! I’m not crushing on _that_ _fleebag_!”

“Hey!” Mrs Norris hissed and her hair stood on end. Malfoy flinched back and grabbed Harry by the collar. He pulled their faces together. “Look, _Potter_ , either figure out what you want to do with them, whether you want to drown them or invite them to a game of Quiddich, just hurry up and do it before something goes wrong.”

He let go of Harry’s shirt and saw an unexpected blush in Harry’s cheeks. “I could turn them back.” said Harry, flicking his wand. A cloud of gold sparkles left the tip and floated down to the grass. Draco’s eyes followed them while he thought of different options. “Or you could find out _things_ , they have been living with Hagrid and Filtch, who knows what those two have been hiding.” he said.

“Such as?” asked Harry, glancing over to the pair that had begun to bicker over personal space.

Malfoy grabbed his chin and drew his face back. He had a sly grin on his face and the mischievous glare in his eyes that cried nothing but born-Slytherin. “Think about it. Remember Fluffy? Hagrid’s three-headed mongrel? What was he protecting?”

“The chamber of secrets.” replied Harry, wondering why Malfoy’s hand was still holding his chin.

“You can’t really believe that the chamber is the only thing that is being kept locked away, do you? There are things hidden in Hogwarts school, Potter, things that even your wildest dreams couldn’t imagine. Potter, I’ll tell you now, the only way to find out what is hidden is to ask the Caretaker’s cat and the Groundskeeper’s dog.”

Draco let go of Harry’s face and stood up straight. Harry looked at the bickering pair who’d stated raising their voices. “Are you sure?” He asked, visibly unconvinced by what he was looking at.

“Potter, they know more about the secrets of this school than anyone. They’ve been to places, through the forests, in the restricted rooms.. They’ve seen everything and they’ll give you more answers than anyone you’ll ever meet here. Animals don’t lie once they gain trust.”

Harry watched Draco speak, listening carefully, observing the sparkling lights in those grey eyes and wondering where they came from. Draco was clearly ready for adventure and Harry somehow couldn’t refuse a demand so eager. Or maybe, just maybe, he couldn’t refuse an offer from someone with a face like his, a body like his, and an ability to make Harry feel this way.

 

*

 


	8. The Spell Dealers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry try to get answers out of Fang and Mrs Norris, and Ron and Hermione meet some Spell Dealers in Hogwarts school.

"What should we do?" asked Harry, "I mean, they I've gained their trust to a certain degree, but they don't trust you, at all. No offence, of course."

Malfoy made a disgusted and certainly offended face before saying, "None taken." He sat down on a rock and looked up at Harry, almost as if he were expecting something from him. Harry looked back for a long while until Draco scowled. "Well?" He said, "Go on, ask them about Hogwarts. And make it _subtle_. We don't want them to know what we're up to. They shouldn't suspect anything; even in human form, they still have the mentality of an animal, but just be cautious. Understood, Potter?"

Harry nodded, "Subtle. Right." He walked up to Fang and Mrs Norris, wondering how to intervene between them both until a bright flash of light came out from Draco's wand and tore them both apart.

"Stop bickering already." He said, resting his face on the back of his hand as he waved Harry towards them with his wand. He then let go of the conversation and went to his own matters by lighting one of his strange cigarettes that let clouds of yellow smoke fill the air patterned in chips of silver ash.

Harry turned back to Fang. 'Subtle', he thought. "Erm—So, what other secrets are there at Hogwarts?" He heard Draco mutter an " _Oh, for Merlin's sake, Potter._ " in the background.

Both Fang and Mrs Norris turned away from each other and eyed Harry with a look that read 'What are you up to?'. Harry laughed awkwardly, turned to Draco for help and upon realising that no one was there to back him up, he turned back to the transfigured pets. It was beyond clear that he had done the opposite of what Draco had demanded, and assumed that it was too late to back down now. "The Chamber of Secrets was guarded by Fluffy, your Master's other dog.. thing." He said, nodding at Fang. "So I was wondering if, by chance, there were any other place in Hogwarts that is guarded, _hidden.._ Surely you'd know?"

"Well, there is—"

"Hey! You don't trust anyone, why don't you understand that? Just because he gave you a biscuit once doesn't make him your friend." Mrs Norris hissed at Fang who shrank back and looked more dog-like than a human could ever appear. "He's up to something, I can sense it."

Me?" said Harry, in the most innocent voice he could manage, despite the fact that Mrs Norris admittedly terrified him. "No, never. I don't get up to mischief. I couldn't possibly—" He would have elaborated by saying that mischief was not one of his traits but there was no way that anyone, even transfigured animals, would believe that much of a lie. Especially since he'd  _coincidently_  been at the scene of Mrs Norris' petrification a few years back, and had therefore been a prime suspect and probably the thing the furthest away from a non-mishievous person.

"Master trusts 'im." said Fang, in the same country-made accent as Hagrid. "'arry Potter, the boy who lived. Everyone should trust 'im." He bared his teeth at Mrs Norris who seemed overpowered as she stepped back. Fang turned back to Harry. "I see yer 'ave the Marauder's map. Do yer know who the Marauders are?"

Harry nodded. He could feel Draco's eyes on his back and it made him far more nervous than he should have been.

"Then yer know about the locker?" asked Fang.

Harry felt as if he should know, but he did not. He shook his head. "No."

Fang tilted his head and sat down. Harry sat next to Draco and the smoke from the oagwik turned gold.

Mrs Norris stepped forward, then, and sat on the grass in front of Harry and Draco, eyeing them viciously. "The Marauder's locker is probably what you're looking for." She said, "The Marauders as you know, were four students of this school: Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, and your father, _James_ Potter. Those bloody brats were always up to mischief. I bet in all of the years they were here, they only attended three lessons." Her red eyes turned to Harry, sent a chill down his spine, and she pointed at him. "They made that very map in your hands, but they made many more things and stored them all away in a locker that only Dumbledore, Snape, and the animals of Hogwarts know about. If I'm not mistaken, they all passed before anyone could retrieve the contents."

Harry looked at Draco and Draco looked back. Their eyes were glistening with mischief, with the need for adventure, and they'd found more than their fair share.

Draco looked back at Mrs Norris, "Where is the locker? How does it open?"

Mrs Norris shook her head, "I cannot say. I wouldn't want to be blamed for more trouble on your behalf. But—if you're that eager, there is someone in the school who lived through it all. Ask the right person, and you'll find the right answer."

*

"Harry! Where are you going? Slow down!"

Hermione shouted after Harry as she pushed through the crowds of students to follow her friend who ran down the corridor as if his life depended on it. Ron struggled to follow on behind, his robes getting constantly trapped between students who somehow failed to acknowledge a firing red-head who obviously hated running as much as running hated him.

"The library!" Harry's voice finally shouted back from somewhere in the sea of black robes. Amid the mass of people, Hermione heard McGonagall's voice telling Harry to 'slow down and stop running', and then Harry's voice quickly apologising but giving no such indication that he'd slowed his pace. Hermione stopped running; at least she knew where he was going, and the only things she now wanted to find out were why Harry seemed to be in such a rush and why _Harry_ of all people wanted to go the _library_ in the first place.

Ron caught up to her, face as red as his hair. Hermione looked at him through the corner of her eye. "He's hiding something." she said, in a tone of voice that pressured Ron to feel as if he were supposed to know what that 'something' was. "Harry's been acting strange lately, Ron." she added, building up the pressure.

"Really? I hadn't noticed." said Ron, who had noticed.

Just when Hermione opened her mouth to snap back at him, someone grabber her by the arm and pulled her aside. She cried out and was responded by the hand letting her go and a smooth voice saying, "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Ron and Hermione turned to the person who had spoken to see a tall Slytherin boy with platinum blond hair and green eyes, standing against the wall with a smaller boy at his side. The person beside him, a Ravenclaw, with dark hair, round owlish glasses, and a scowl very much like Hermione's plastered on his face. They stood in front of a tiny stall which showed leaflets of various pills and potions and spells, and in front of them were a collection of items that looked and smelt very much like illegal merchandise. By the way that the Slytherin boy's eyes shifted around the crowds and by the profound scowl on the Ravenclaw's face, Hermione was certain that they didn't want any professor to find them amongst the students.

"And how may I help you, exactly?" she asked, folding her arms and turning her nose up to the boys. The Ravenclaw scowled further but the Slytherin boy put his hand out and smiled in a way that screamed trouble. In his hand, he held what looked like three stubby cigarettes wrapped in tin foil. They had a very suspicious scent. "I'm Cyrus, he's Jonathan. Muggle." said the Slytherin student. "Care to buy one?" He asked, pointing to the cigarettes in his palm.

Hermione exchanged glances between Cyrus and the objects in his palm. "And what are _they_?"

Cyrus seemed taken aback, as if Hermione had asked the most stupid question imaginable. "My, my, you've got an attitude to you, haven't you?" He laughed and Hermione blushed. "That aside, these are 'oagwiks'." He said, "Wizard cigarettes, if you like. Taste like toffee apples, completely harmless—besides the side effects—and quite fun, too. They show your mood through colour."

"What do you mean 'side effects'?" said Hermione, slapping Ron's hand away from a bubbling blue potion which he moved to pick up.

Cyrus shrugged slightly. "Nothing major." He said. He saw Hermione's expression darken and sighed. He took a paper out of his pocket and read off of it; "Side effects include: Hallucinations, cravings, strong attachment to other living beings, need for physical contact, and uncontrolled rambling." He put the paper away and proceeded to say, "That being said, when smoked correctly and for a long enough time, they'll send you over the edge like a dog in heat."

Hermione looked unconvinced but Ron leant in between them. "And the colours?" he asked.

Jonathan, who'd gone unnoticed so far, coughed and shook his head. He had a such bland voice that it made Hermione wonder how these two could possibly be friends. "There are seven colours: Gold is joy, yellow is excitement, red is fury, black is sorrow, purple is pain, silver is mischief, and pink is love. Moods may blend together, for instance, if you are angry and hurt, you may see red with purple ashes." He pointed to a leaflet of a cloud of yellow smoke being blown into the air. "Think of something, an animal, person, _anything_ , and you can make it appear for a few seconds until the smoke pops and disappears."

"Worth the buy. Two for the price of three." said Cyrus, eagerly. Hermione scoffed and pushed him away. She turned her eyes and got distracted by a picture on a leaflet. "What's that?" she asked, picking it up. Cyrus leant over the paper and looked at the picture of someone's hands holding a small pool of fire. The fire was swirling and mermaids, monsters, and other strange creaters were leaping out of it. "Ah, beautiful isn't it? We'll sell you the spell, if you'd like it."

"What is it, though? Doesn't it hurt?" asked Hermione, looking at the pool of fire.

Cyrus tapped the leaflet. "Money." He said, putting his hand out. Hermione groaned but out of curiosity, she gave him what he wanted. Cyrus smiled. " _Amans Incendio,_ or'Lover's Fire'. This spell is a love spell. Generally, the person to cast this spell believes that the signifiant other is either too good for them or will never fall in love with them.   
By saying ' _Amans Incendio_ ', a pool of fire is lit in the holder's hands, and the one to close the holder's hands like this—" He cupped Hermione's hands and closed them, "will be the one who the holder will fall in love with. The fire, once extinguished, sends a warm heat through the holder's body and that heat acts as a love potion. Used by romantics." He wiggled his eyebrows at Hermione.

Hermione nodded and before anyone had time to do anything, McGonagall's voice screeched out through the crowd. Cyrus and Jonathan looked at each other, and before anyone had time to say anything, their table was folding over itself and they were hauling it away down the corridor and to—what Hermione and Ron guessed was—a safer place for potion dealers.

"Well.." said Hermione. "That was a terrible waste of money, thanks a lot, Ron."

Ron let out an inhuman sound that was supposed to show exasperation, but Hermione ignored him when Harry came rushing back with the biggest smile on his face that Hermione had ever seen. "What up with you?" she asked.

Harry shook his head, trying to pull a straight face. "Nothing." he said, "Good research."

But he didn't tell them what he'd found in the restricted area. He didn't say that he'd opened the book of Hogwarts' secrets, the book in which Remus had left a note for him years back. On the night before when he'd been on the grounds with a Slytherin and two humanised pets, Harry had remembered that Professor Lupin had once told him to look in the restricted area for a certain book, and now that Harry had finally had the initiative to open it, he'd realised why.

He now had the location to the Marauder's locker, and he knew who to ask for the key.


	9. The Screeching Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco find their way into Hogwarts, and they find their hearts to be fluttering far more than they'd have liked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! If you're enjoying this story so far, please leave kudos and comments, it really means a lot to me and it takes two seconds to do.  
> I hope that you'll enjoy this chapter and thank you for reading x  
> Lucy xx

People wandered around the grounds of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The new students and the old, the different houses shown by the colours of their ties, and despite their differences, they all made the same loud racket.

Draco put his hands over his ears and groaned. He turned around on himself and sank down the back of the large rock he hid behind. Then, he put his hands down—and his left one touched Harry's. "Oh—" he said, pulling it away quickly. Harry blushed and pulled his own hand back, too. Shy and embarrassed, they both fell into a short silence before Harry finally let out a sigh. "If we're going to find this locker, we'll need to figure out a way to get you into the school. I'm assuming that with this many students, that shouldn't be difficult but it remains a risk."

Draco grunted and put an oagwik between his teeth. He lit the tip with his wand and silver smoke with chips of gold filled the air. He took it out of his mouth and blew the smoke away. Harry watched it swirl until it turned into a snake, then a lion, until it popped and disappeared.

"I know what you're going to suggest and the answer is 'no'. Polyjuice potion isn't an option, try again." Malfoy said blankly, watching the smoke that he exhaled. Harry looked at him, wondering how someone could look so relaxed, so calm, and so truly handsome all at once.

"Why isn't it an option? It isn't a bad idea." said Harry, watching the animals that Malfoy made with his oagwik.

"All of your ideas are bad, Potter." said Malfoy, and the chips of gold turned pink. "I wouldn't want to ruin a face like this, would I now?" He turned to Harry and, with a mischievous smile, he swirled his finger around his face.

Harry looked at his knees. "Then we'll have to do it the muggle way. We'll dye your hair and make your eyes another colour." Upon seeing Draco's horrified expression, Harry corrected himself, "The dye will wear off when you wash you hair." and before Malfoy could protest, Harry had flicked his wand and Draco's hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes darkened to a raven black. Harry flicked his wand again, Malfoy blinked, and when his eyes opened, they were a sky blue. Harry blushed once again and looked away.

"Like it, Potter?" Malfoy sneered. He threw away his oagwik down the hill and stood up, putting a hand out for Harry to grab onto. "Come on then, I don't want to look like this all day."

"Ah, sure." Harry gave a flustered laugh that he wished he could have held back, and they were off, back up the hill to Hogwarts school.

*

They walked cautiously, Malfoy standing taller than many of the students, and Harry saw him as much prouder as well. To Harry, Malfoy looked like a Lord from a manor, like someone who knew his place on the throne. And Merlin, his eyes and hair made his pale complexion shine, they made his school robes act like a fitted tuxedo on his body. He looked ten times the person that Harry could ever be, and Harry was constantly attracted to that.

Their strides became calmer as time went on, as more people looked but averted their gazes, and as no one seemed to care about the Boy Who Lived and the tall Slytherin with an un-naturally blue stare. Harry was reassured by how casually Malfoy could fit in with the crowd, and then he reminded himself that Malfoy had once been the crowd himself. Of course, he'd once walked these corridors, once attended his lessons, once watched the Quiddich matches, and once feasted in the dinning hall. This was not new to Malfoy, but it was merely a distant memory, a memory that had stayed in the past before Voldemort had come along when all was well.

And now, with Malfoy at his side, Harry could say that all was well, once more.

They moved through the halls, their robes flowing behind them, Malfoy leading the way with his larger steps while Harry skipped by him to catch up like a small dog would do. Only one occasion made them back down and huddle into a crook in the wall when Hermione and Ron passed right beside them with a few other students; one being a tall Slytherin with blond hair and another being a shorter Ravenclaw with a scowl on his face.

Harry let out the breath he was holding and looked up, ready to tell Malfoy to follow. But his eyes met those un-natural sky blue ones looking back. They met a blush in Malfoy's cheeks, and then Harry realised how close they were pressed to each other. He inhaled sharply and scrambled out from the crevice in the wall, the touch of Malfoy's body still ghosting on his own. "Sorry." he said. "I was just—sorry."

Malfoy looked around them before leaving the large crack in the wall, himself. He shook his head and put out a hand to stop Harry from stuttering. "Come on." He said. He spoke in a voice that sounded displeased, angry, and it wasn't a nice sound to hear.

Finally, they reached the place that they'd been looking for, and both of them stopped in front of the doors. Draco looked at Harry, and Harry looked at Draco. Neither of them knew the right approach. "Should we just go in?" asked Harry, pointing to the door in an inviting manner. When Draco shrugged, Harry said, "I mean, it's not like anyone else would go in, right?"

"I guess not." said Draco. He walked up to the door and touched the handle, turning it and opening the door slightly. Harry watched him poke his head around it. "Empty." he said, opening the door to its fullest.

"Oh, thank goodness." said Harry, letting out the breath of air that he hadn't known he'd been holding. He marched past Draco and into the room. Draco followed, closing the door behind himself. He whispered ' _colloportus_ ', and the door locked.

Harry looked around the room. To his right was a spiral of sinks with mirrors that seemed to have stains of lipstick all over and graffiti quotes from Gilderoy Lockhart's collection of not-so-brilliant books. To Harry's left were the individual toilets that all had their doors closed and locked. He and Malfoy listened, but only the dripping of a leaking tap replied to the silence.

"No one's here." said Harry, putting his wand away. He walked once around the sinks, getting vivid flashbacks from the time he'd found a basilisk, and once up and down the toilet stalls, knocking on each door to make sure they were alone. "No one at all, in fact."

Malfoy put away his own wand and his eyes slowly turned away from Harry to the wide window behind the sinks. "One person." he said, and smiled.

"Myrtle!" said Harry, smiling gladly at her. She appeared surprised by his attitude towards her presence and turned her head behind herself to check that he wasn't talking to anyone else. 

"Harry?" She asked, and Draco instantly remembered how moody she sounded. "Lovely to see you after all of this time.. You brought a friend with you. Pretty boy, aren't you?" she said, smiling at Draco who looked as uncomfortable as Harry felt.

"Quite." said Draco. He frowned. Even a ghost like moaning Myrtle couldn't recognise him—perhaps that Harry wasn't as stupid as he thought.

"This is.. uh—" Harry fumbled for a name until Malfoy rolled his eyes and stepped forward. "Scorpius." he said, frowning at Myrtle bitterly. "Come down here, will you?"

Myrtle groaned and flew down from the window to sit in one of the sinks. She looked as ugly as ever, Harry thought. "We were looking for you." he said, taking his place next to Draco. "I need your help."

Myrtle smiled, giggled, and bit her nail. "Help?" she asked, "What kind of help, Harry?"

Malfoy smirked at her and turned to Harry, raising an eyebrow, visibly amused. Harry became very uncomfortable, especially upon remembering that—despite having died decades ago—Myrtle was still only fourteen and as a result, was four years younger than both Harry and Draco.

"I know you have the key to the Marauder's locker." said Harry, frowning at her which had seemed to become the normal expression around Myrtle as far as Harry and Draco were concerned. Harry's voice had passed as sterner than he'd intended and both Draco and Myrtle seemed startled by it.

"Oooh.. I see..." said Myrtle, rolling over in the sink and leaning over the edge. "I knew that you didn't want to see me... After all, who'd want to see ugly, whining, loathsome, boring, Myrtle? Nooobody.."

Harry waved his hands in attempt to calm her, glancing at the door to make sure no one would hear her horrible whining. "No! No, no, not at all. I was coming here to see you. I was—well I was bursting at the seams to see you, Myrtle."

Draco let out a quiet laugh that only Harry heard.

Myrtle rolled back over herself in the sink, "Really?" she asked, hopeful despite her moaning tone, "In that case, I suppose I can tell you. Since it's you, Harry."

Harry waited expectantly, and Myrtle said, "I don't have the key."

Draco looked at Harry, and Harry looked back once again. Both shared the confused look on their faces. "What do you mean you 'don't have the key'? Remus said in his letter that you had it."

Myrtle giggled and plunged head first into the sink to re-emerge from the one beside it. "Harry, Harry, Harry." She said in a moaning voice that made both boys uncomfortable. "I know where the locker is, I guard it, but I don't have the key." She let out a wail, rolled over on herself in the sink, and flew over Draco and Harry's heads to the end of the stalls. She stopped by the wall and looked back at them. She pointed to her left at the end stall. "The locker." she said, "Flush yourself."

Harry walked up to her with Draco following behind him. Myrtle went through the door, it clicked and opened to reveal a regular toilet behind it. Cobwebs hung from the chain and dust covered the floor.

Harry stared at Myrtle, and she smiled back, nodding to the toilet. "Flushhh."

"Well?" Draco said from behind Harry. "Go on, then." He shoved Harry forward and instead of shutting the door behind Harry alone, he closed the door on them both. Myrtle looked over the top. "Naughty boys." she said, giggling, "Just like _they_ were."

She giggled again and left with a loud splash from a toilet a few stalls down. Harry looked at Draco, uncertain, but Draco nodded him on. The toilet had dried and Harry was glad to see that his shoes would remain clean, at least. He step into it, put his hand on the chain, and pulled.

*

He landed with a bang and a cloud of dust erupting in his face. He felt his nose snap when it hit the concrete ground and he groaned in pain. He gripped his face, wincing at the pain and stood up.

"Lumos." He said, and his wand lit up. He was in a chamber, not so different from the Chamber of Secrets. It was large, bland, every surface made of dusty concrete, and carried the strong smell of a deserted room. Harry looked up to where he'd fallen from and saw a drainage pipe coming from the ceiling. It dripped in slime and green gunk. Harry shuddered and turned away. To his right was a wall with empty shelves built into it. Spiders crawled over them and thick cobwebs blew from a draft around the room. To Harry's left, at the far end of the room, was a corridor darker than Harry imagined possible.

A loud shout came then, and then a bang, and Draco appeared by Harry's feet. On his hands and knees, he coughed out the dust, and finally groaned before standing up. He looked at Harry, scowling. "Never am I listening to you again." He said, pointing accusingly at Harry as if it were _his_ fault that there wasn't a luxury ten inch-thick mattress below the pipe. "What happened to your face?" he asked, noticing the blood beneath Harry's hand that continued to clutch his nose.

"Broken nose." said Harry.

Draco made a disgusted face but pinched the bridge of Harry's nose. Harry took his hand away, Draco said a spell, and then a loud crack made everything go black for a second.

When Harry woke less than a minute later, he found himself in Draco's arms with the sharp face and blue eyes looking down at him. "Better?" Malfoy asked, standing Harry back up straight.

Harry nodded, somehow absorbed by Draco's eyes. "Much. Thanks."

"Then come on." said Malfoy, not giving Harry a second thought. He walked to the corridor and Harry followed on, their wands lighting the way. They walked for a while down a long, long, _long_ corridor, and all of that while, Draco started to lose his patience.

"Well, Potter?" he snapped, "Where is your locker? We've been here for hours."

"No we haven't, don't lie." said Harry, "It's here, I know it is."

"Where?!" Draco shouted and a few pebbles from the ceiling rained down onto them. He let out a heavy breath and said in a calmer tone, "Please, just find it. I don't like the dark."

A pang of something hit Harry right in the heart and his hand went directly to his chest. He kept his eyes on Draco, watched him back down in shame, and he put a hand out invitingly.

Draco's eyes raised from the ground to look. His bright blue eyes flickered from Harry's face to the hand held out to him, and slowly, he placed his own fingers on Harry's.

Harry blushed, watching their fingers touch each other's, watched Draco's pale fingers rest on his own, and Harry then realised what was happening. He realised, and he took Draco's hand.

Draco was cold, and Harry was warm. Draco was scared, but Harry was too. They both looked at each other in the light of their wands, hands joined together, faces dusty, but both feeling the beating of their own heart. Yeah, it felt nice�—Harry thought—to feel this alive.

Harry forced his eyes away from Draco, much that he wanted to stare, and put his wand out to the corridor ahead of him. "Shall we?" he asked.

He heard Draco mutter a quiet "Yeah." behind him, and Harry lead them on.

The corridor twisted and turned for a longer while, but neither of them complained anymore. The time went on, and eventually, they reached the end.

*

A wide dome-like room came into view. Candle stands were hooked around the walls and Draco waved his wand to light them. They were plunged into a bright orange glow that should've been the signal for them to let go of each other's hands but they forgot to do so.

Instead, their eyes fell onto creatures scattered all over the room—on the floor, hanging on the lights, gripping to the crooks in the walls. None of them moved.

"What are they?" asked Draco, quietly.

Harry let go of Draco's hand to walk into the centre of the room. He looked around himself, counting around twenty creatures. "I've heard of these. Spider monkeys with wings, I mean. They're Screeching Angels. If you attack one of them, they'll all get you. If I remember correctly, their bite carried venom that burns your organs while you're still alive. They have angel wings but they're creatures from Hell. Best not to get on their bad side."

"Screeching Angels." Draco repeated, following Harry to the middle of the room cautiously. "Are they dead?"

Harry looked around at the monkeys. They were all in positions of attack, teeth bared, angel wings spread." No—they're not dead.. They've been frozen."


	10. The Four Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry continue their search for the locker and face the challenges behind each door. Important notes are at the end.

Draco stopped beside Harry, both looking up at the angels somehow frozen in time. "We can just go, right?" he asked, "the door is right behind us."

Harry's eyes followed the angels cautiously. He watched them hang where they'd been frozen and saw that they were mostly all facing the blue door behind them. They must have been frozen by someone standing at that door, and it seemed strange that they weren't in action now.

"Wait." said Harry, putting an arm in between Draco and the blue door where he was heading. "These are not regular animals, angels can't be hexed or petrified or what ever you're thinking of. Spells don't work on them like they do on humans or animals because they're not from our worlds."

Draco looked at Harry and lowered his wand. "What are you implying?"

Harry turned to the screeching angels, then to the door, "They have been frozen, that's clear, but it wasn't a spell that did it. That being said, they may be triggered awake. Loud sounds, change of lighting, or strong scents.. if one awakes, they'll all follow and we'll be dead meat."

Draco scoffed and walked up to an angel hanging from a crevice in the wall. "That's ridiculous, Potter. They've been frozen for decades, as if a scent would wake them up." He laughed and before Harry could tell him to stop, he'd wafted the scent of his cologne (that, to Harry, smelt very much like Amorentia) all over the angel.

They both stared at the winged spider monkey... and the monkey did not move. "See?" said Draco, turning back to Harry and smirking at him in a very proud manner. "They're dead."

No sooner as he'd said that, there was a loud snap beside him, then a crack, and the angel's wings moved. "Draco, look out!" screamed Harry. He slapped a hand over his own mouth, and then cracking of wings came from all around the room. Draco scampered away from the angel and back to Harry in the centre of the room. They looked around each other, wands raised besides knowing the poor consequences they'd have, and their faces showed nothing but panic.

The monkey that Draco had awakened was the first to make a sound, and that sound—to a human, at least—was like nails scratching on a blackboard. Harry covered his ears and Draco did the same, both understanding how the screeching angels earned their name. They may have had time to get to the door, but their fear held them back. The angels unclasped themselves from the chains of time, turned their faces to the boys who'd awoken them, and they _screeched_.

Then, they flew. Draco screamed and Harry felt his heart turn in his chest. He pressed his back to Draco's, their robes flying with the air that the angels' wings pushed against them. The spider monkeys did not attack at first, but flew around them, circling them like mice in a field, eyeing them like starving vultures would, and Harry knew then that when they'd attack, it'd be more painful than death itself. After all, these creatures were from Hell, from the darkest parts of the underworld, and they would not—under any circumstance—let anyone into the locker.

"WHAT DO WE DO?" screamed Draco, turning up the light of his wand in hope that it'd drive the angels off.

Harry's hair billowed around his face, the scent of Draco's cologne wafted past him, and he had no idea how to reply. " _PROTEGO MAXIMIMA_." he shouted, wand to the sky, and a blue light erupted from his wand.

The air stopped blowing, and Harry could now hear himself think. He looked at the angels, and something seemed...off.

"Can they still see us?" said Draco, unnervingly as he moved closer to Harry, "You must have said the spell wrong, Potter. They're attacking the shield! They'll break through it!"

Harry shook his head, watching the angels that bashed themselves against the shield he'd created around them. Every time they struck, the shield let off a blue light. "Bloody angels." He said.

"They're crawling on the shield, look. They're biting through it!" said Draco, pointing above them to where a couple of angels were using their teeth to tear away the shield. "I don't want to die here. Not like this." Draco started to whine, sounding like some form of an upset puppy, and Harry saw an angel that had been bashing the side of the shield take off and cover its ears with its wings.

"That's it!" he shouted, spinning around to face Draco. "You clever, _clever_ man." and then, he turned back, cupped his mouth with his hands, and howled.

Draco looked back, more than alarmed as he watched Harry howl like a wolf. He then turned to the angels, and they took off. One by one, their fear took over them, and they became frozen.

Harry stopped, destroyed his battered shield, and the room was silent. He smiled at Malfoy, more than proud of himself. Draco blushed and turned away. "How did you know what to do?" he asked, walking to the blue door.

Harry followed quietly. "It makes sense. The angels are monkeys, and monkey fear dogs, do they not? Remus was a werewolf, and Sirius had a howl to him, too. One of them must have petrified the angels and they'd not awoken since."

Draco watched Harry for a long while, his eyes glistening, and only looked away when the blue door was opened.

*

The room was smaller than the previous by far, looking like a cellar and smelling like one, too. Draco and Harry's eyes immediately fell onto the table in the middle of it, and to a leather-bound book encased by a glass cylinder like some kind of trophy. Harry walked up to it. There was a brass label like ones in museums in front of it. "We who are human may enter, we who are not must think alike."

The words triggered something, and Draco thought Harry would have learned by now, but the glass casing melted away and the book opened itself. The pages turned themselves at a rapid rate, and Draco ran up to Harry in case he were in danger. The book stopped on a page, on the _only_ page with writing.

Harry, being as oblivious to danger and as foolish as he'd ever been, read the words aloud. "Death is arson. I am reborn."

There was a hushing noise in the room, and a warm air spiralled around both Harry and Draco. Harry giggled when it tickled his face, and Draco smiled at him before realising that he was doing so and turning to the book again. The air continued to swirl around them, but they felt no danger, somehow.

"It's a riddle, isn't it?" asked Draco, reading the words in his head over and over again, but maybe that just was a distraction from Harry's joy.

Harry sheltered himself by standing closer to Draco where he found a place in the battering of Draco's robes where the air couldn't reach. "Death is arson. I am reborn." he said.

The air sped up, and Draco put a hand over Harry's mouth. "Stop saying it. It's a trap. The more times you say the riddle, the faster the air spins. Say it too many times, and you'll be blown to pieces."

"Then, what's the answer?" asked Harry, still shielded by Draco's robes. He thought—they both did—for a long time, both wishing that a Ravenclaw could be with them.

Draco's face then lit up. "I think I know what it is." He said. He waved his wand and a quill pen appeared. He flicked the pen, and green ink splashed the table. Harry watched Draco lean over him, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder for balance, and he wrote—in the neatest handwriting Harry had ever seen—the word "Phoenix".

He stood back up straight and they both watched the word absorb itself into the paper. There was another silence where the wind stopped blowing and then nothing, once more.

Harry looked at Draco and Draco shrugged. Suddenly, the door opened and banged against the wall, making them both jump. They looked at it—at the yellow door which now hung wide open on the other side of the room.

"I guess that _was_ the answer. Well done." said Harry, grabbing Draco by the sleeve and dragging him through the door.

*

This room was set in yellow lights, appearing more joyful and warming, but its emptiness was suspicious. A red door with the picture of the Gryffindor crest painted on it awaited them at the other side.

"I guess that they ran out of traps." said Harry and he took a confident stride forward.

Draco opened his mouth to shout 'wait', but there was a loud snapping noise, a blue light, and Harry fell to the ground with a light burn mark on his nose and a hole in his robes by his chest. Draco walked up to him, peering down mockingly.

"You never learn, do you, Potter?" he said. He watched Harry groan and slowly stand up. Harry looked down at himself and the burn mark in his clothes. The burn went past his robes and as far as his shirt. "What _was_ that?" he asked, brushing himself down.

"From the roast chicken smell you're giving off, I'd say that what you walked into was an electric wall." said Draco. "It's a maze. See there?" He pointed to the ground by the door. "One person stands on that yellow platform, and that person can see the maze's path. He must direct the other person through the maze to the other side. Once the other person reaches the door, they must stand on the platform over there and guide the first person through. Once they're both there, I assume that the door shall unlock itself."

Harry nodded. "Makes sense." he said. "Almost all of these traps need two people, I guess that the marauders didn't even trust each other. They could not come here alone."

Draco nodded. "Whatever is in the locker is something powerful, I'll tell you that much. No one would set screeching angels and this many traps if it were empty."

Harry nodded, and Draco pushed him backwards, guiding him onto the small yellow platform on the floor. "Stand." He ordered, and Harry stepped onto it. A screen appeared in front of him that looked very much like the Marauder's map. He could see the walls of the maze that lacked in space to walk between, and he could see Draco's footsteps.

"I can see you." he said, pointing to Draco.

"You look like an idiot, Potter, looking at nothing at all." said Draco, laughing slightly.

"Can't you see it?" asked Harry. Draco shook his head. "Well, deal with it, you'll be doing the same thing over there." He pointed to the other platform and Draco rolled his eyes.

Harry looked at the map. "Take two steps forward, then two steps left, one right, and then two forward."

Draco nodded, took two steps forward, then one right, and there was a loud bang, flash, and Draco's nose was as burnt as Harry's.

"POTTER!" He growled, spinning around to Harry, "I'll kill you when I get out of here."

Harry smiled and leant over the map. "Will you, now?" he said, "That's _if_ you get out of there."

Draco scowled and turned around again, folding his arms. "Hurry up." he said, moodily.

Harry went back to his map. "Take a tiny step back, then go right for one step." he said, and Draco did as he was told. "Now, two forward." Draco took two steps forward, nearing dangerously a wall to his left. "Slow! _Small_ steps, Malfoy, this isn't a race. Take three steps left, then one right, and you'll be out."

Draco followed Harry's instructions, and with every step that went free from electrocution, he became more and more confident. "Am I out?" he asked.

Harry looked at the map, "To me you are, at least." He said. He looked at Draco. "Now stand on that button."

Draco stood on the platform and started peering at a void ahead of him. Harry laughed and Draco muttered a 'shut it, Potter'.

Draco guided Harry through the maze much better than Harry had done, but then Harry trusted Draco more and was visibly less afraid. He only got zapped on one occasion where Draco had called it 'revenge', and before long, he was standing in front of the red door as well.

Draco turned the nob, and the door opened.

*

This room had no other door, and to both boys' surprise, appeared to look very much like the Gryffindor common room, only far smaller and far less organised. To their left was a fireplace which Harry lit with his wand, on the walls were magic-made windows that showed landscapes of sunsets. Red tapestries hung on the walls behind the velvet curtains, and photographs were lined on shelves. Red sofas,chairs, and cushions were scattered around the room, and games of cards or chess placed on each tabletop. The room was perfectly clean, warm, and Harry recognised the self-cleaning spell to be the same one that he and Ron used in their bedroom. Draco lay down on the sofa as if he were about to die from exhaustion and watched Harry wander around the room.

Harry looked at the mantelpiece, taking his cloak off and leaving it on the table. The photos in the frames did not move like was expecting them to. They were colourless, dull, but showed who were in them quite splendidly. Harry's heart crackled like the fire in the fireplace, it hurt him when he saw those whom he loved in those frames. He saw how young they were, probably younger than Harry was then, in fact. There were Remus and Sirius sitting together on the very sofa behind Harry, Peter looking very drunk as he lay asleep on the floor with pen marks on his face.. And on the end was a picture of his parents. Harry's father, James, stood on the Quiddich grounds with his wife—no, his _girlfriend_ —Lily, both smiling and looking so truly happy.

Harry looked at the photo for a long time, wondering why it wouldn't move, why it was so dull, and wondering how anyone could possibly murder people like them.

"Harry."

The voice behind Harry made him snap out of the sadness he'd fallen into and he spun around. Draco looked back at him, sky blue eyes looking dark with the warm light of the fireplace. "Don't look if it hurts. You can't bring back the past, so why wish for it? You'll only hurt yourself."

He sat up and invited Harry to sit beside him. Harry did so, and they both fell into a commemorative silence for a while, looking at the fire crackle before them.

"You know, Potter, people in this world do bad things to those who mean well. It is seen as murder and crime by some, but for others, it may be seen as power. Voldemort wanted power, and to gain it, he had no choice but to use death and pain as weapons. Wizards or muggles—we're all selfish people who starve for a place in this world, but sometimes, you can't have that place. When you can't have it, can't have what you want, then that's when you do bad."

He spoke quietly, as if there were something behind those words that, uncontrolled by the volume of his voice, would be able to escape. And Harry guessed it then, Draco did not want those secrets he kept to roam free.

Draco shifted uncomfortably and rubbed his forearm. Harry watched him, watched the orange light of the fireplace dance off his face, read those blue eyes like a book with no words. He wanted to know the _real_ Draco, not this cover he'd given himself. He wanted Draco, and could feel him slip away.

"Don't you get lonely?" he asked.

Draco looked at him, and then he turned his eyes down to his hands. "Sometimes." He said, but he nodded.

"Can I ask you a question?" said Harry, "Why were you expelled?"

Draco's face snapped back to Harry's and Harry was shocked to see how terrified he appeared then. His eyes were wide, his lips parted, and he inhaled sharply. He then started to cry, and to catch a Slytherin crying was one of the most painful things that Harry had ever seen. He put a hand out to Draco's face, fingers trembling, and he cupped Draco's cheek. He was cold like the snow, the fire not heating his body, and his tears slipped through Harry's fingers.

He did not pull away when Harry put another hand there, his face being held while Harry's eyes burned their way right through him. Harry's heart was sinking lower with every tear that fell from Draco's eyes, and he saw the blue of them wash out into their natural state of a greyish silver. "Would you—like a hug?" asked Harry.

Draco let out a choked laughter and pulled away from Harry, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve. "I wasn't crying. I do not cry." He said. He waited for a moment, thoughts going through his mind like a storm. Harry could see them, almost see what those thoughts were telling Draco, but he couldn't quite reach them. "You're not like them, Harry. You don't do what they do. It feels nice."

"Who?" said Harry, offering Draco a dusty tissue from a box on the table, "What do who do?"

Draco froze for a second but then relaxed slightly, taking the tissue and blowing his nose. "Nothing, just—I do not cry."

He sounded strange when he said that. Those four words sent shivers down Harry's spine. Those words were not Draco's; they were like a spell he was reciting, like words he'd been taught to say. That was not Draco, it was someone else in him.

Draco looked at Harry and smiled stiffly, Harry smiled back. "Does your nose hurt?" He asked, putting a finger out to touch the tip of Draco's burnt nose. Draco wrinkled it and shook his head. "Just makes me look awful. You?"

Harry shook his own head. "I've had worse."

And then they were silent until Draco finally spoke up. "I'm—uh—glad that you followed the ribbon that time we met. I'm glad it was you."

Harry's eyes followed Draco's until they fell to his lips. "You are?" he asked. He watched Draco's lips move when he said "Yes." and Harry couldn't stop himself from lifting a finger up to touch them.

They were soft under his fingers, warm against Draco's cold skin, waiting like a feast and Harry was _famished_. He leant in, oblivious to his own heart, and kissed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is a little bit about each door. As stated, each door is the colour of the Hogwarts' houses.  
> When you have passed the first challenge with the screeching Angels, there is a blue door. The Ravenclaw door. To succeed this challenge, you must show intelligence, creativity, knowledge, and wisdom. Without using these attributes, Draco and Harry could not have passed that door. They had to prove that they could think for themselves and not make reckless decisions.  
> The second door is yellow. Hufflepuff.  
> This door values the hard work, the patience, the fair play, and the loyalty of each person to get through the maze. Harry and Draco had to create a bond based on trust if they were to get through to the other side.  
> The final door they reach is red. Gryffindor.  
> This is not the locker, but the final door is hidden, so how will they pass?  
> The attributes of a Gryffindor are bravery, loyalty, courage, adventure, and daring. They must prove that they have it all to find the door. Will they make it or will the locker remain hidden?


	11. The Final Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains sexual content.

The room was warming up around Harry and Draco, the view outside those magic made windows turning from sunsets to nightfall. The light grew darker, the fire burned warmer, or maybe that was only their bodies feeling the heat of the raging storms within themselves.

Harry's tongue was in Draco's mouth, feeling and liking the way that this stubborn Slytherin would gladly put his pride to rest and submit without a fight. And as if he'd been waiting, _expecting_ even, Draco let Harry push him down onto the sofa. Harry held himself up, until his left hand went wandering. It moved down the body beneath him, following the seams of black robes and green ties, crawling down over the sharp edges of Draco's lean figure. Both were young, inexperienced, neither of them realised what they were doing—neither cared to find out. They both walked blindly into the cage and engulfed themselves in the flames of a love that should not have been shared.

Draco whined, his feet shuffling over the chair while Harry found the buttons of his trousers. Harry popped them open, breathing heavily but then Draco was too, and his hand moved down. He felt dirty for doing this with pictures of his parents watching, but with a boy like Draco, he couldn't possibly hold back.  
Draco had a body that may very well have been delicate at a first glance but it was certainly ready to go under complete destruction. His eyes were a cold grey like the storms around the towers, like the smoke in a fire, but he was burning for Harry, then. And Harry's green eyes were the colour of the mischief he was discovering. As time passed with Draco, he uncovered himself to show which house he should've been in all along. He was determined to take Malfoy and give in return, luring him into a trap that Draco could not escape from—but Hell, Draco was more than willing to be taken.

Harry moaned into Draco's mouth and Draco smiled. "Going there, Potter?" he asked, feeling how Harry hesitated to move that hand down from his hipbones.

Harry saw Draco's sly expression and he raised an eyebrow. "Is that an invitation?" he asked.

Draco's hands came up and pushed down on Harry's shoulders. "As if I'd invite anyone. It's a demand." he said.

Harry followed where Draco's hands guided him and he found himself face eye-level with Draco's hips. He looked up, unsure.

"Scared, Potter?" said Draco.

Harry scowled and pulled Draco's trousers down—which proved to be more difficult than he'd imagined from his potion. "You wish."

He saw the bulge in Draco's black underwear and moved his face next to it. He kissed it, feeling the material, set alight with the desire to get beneath it. Draco whined and grabbed Harry's hair. Although he'd never done it with a boy before, Harry had some sort of idea how it felt. After all, he was a boy himself. He moved over Draco, slowly pulling the material down, until he saw what was underneath. "Aw, the spell dyed _all_ of your hair." He said, laughing and pushing his glasses up his nose.

Draco put an arm over his face but he didn't hide a stiff laughter, "Shut up." he said, and then he gasped. Harry's lips were there and his mouth was sucking. Draco's hips bucked upwards and Harry almost gagged but he saved himself. Draco could feel the heat, he wanted to take off his clothes, and Harry must have guessed that because he pulled away.

"Turn around." He said, pulling his own shirt off. While Malfoy took off his robes and turned around to assume a doggy-style on the sofa, Harry stripped completely. He leant behind Draco, flicked his wand at his hand, and watched a pool of translucent liquid fill his palm. Draco whined, arched his back, begging for Harry to touch him. Harry did as he was told. His fingers moved down and the lubricant made Draco moan when it touched him. Harry knew what to do, and he did as his instincts told him. His fingers touched Draco, massaged him, then went inside him. Draco whined and moaned Harry's surname, and Harry couldn't hold back either. He pushed Draco's shirt up and kissed his back, moving his hands over the curves in Draco's waist, up and down his spine, and to his private parts that were striving for attention. There were white scars like tiger stripes all over Draco's body, fist-size bruises that turned his fair skin purple, Harry had seen them the moment he'd lifted Draco's jumper, but he wouldn't say a word. He wanted Draco to feel at ease, to feel like he could forget about his pain, and perhaps that was why he'd kissed him to begin with.

"May I?" asked Harry. Draco did not answer but he nodded and pushed back. Harry lined himself up and pushed into him a little faster than he should have. Draco yelped in pain. "Sorry." said Harry, slowing down.

"Bloody Potter, can't you be a little more careful?" Draco growled but he sounded less menacing to Harry's ears, than a kitten would sound.

Harry flicked his hips, holding Draco's jumper up, wondering why he refused to remove it, and Draco whined. Loudly.

The windows, although not real, steamed up with the heat, both Harry and Draco burning hot like furnaces, making noises that they both hoped no one would hear. They moaned and whined, Harry's skin glowing ivory against Draco's fair complexion. The Slytherin boy submitted to the Gryffindor, and honestly, Harry loved it.

He loved seeing Draco like this, on his hand and knees, sticky and begging. He loved seeing Draco be as loud as he wanted, be as happy as he wanted, and just letting go of the pain that was apparent in him.  
Harry was glad that he could do this much, at least.

Finally, when it was over and Harry had collapsed onto Draco's chest, they closed their eyes—and on the wall, a green door appeared.

*

Smoke floated around the ceiling  of the marauders' common room. Every light was out but the fireplace. It flashed lights over Harry and Draco's bodies as they sat together on the floor, backs pressed against the sofa, oagwiks between their teeth.

Harry had been surprised when he'd smoked it—surprised that he hadn't choked at all. He'd tried cigarettes back in the muggle world but they were nothing compared to these. Draco was skilled, he knew how to use them, and he could make animals and flowers look beautiful in their pink and gold colours.

Harry tried, he really did, but the animals that came out looked like a child's drawing, and the colours confused themselves together to make a sludgy brown. He was confused, unsure how he felt, unsure about everything, but his mind couldn't leave Draco. There was so much that Draco was hiding about himself, so many things that stole away the silver light in his dull grey eyes, but Harry couldn't understand why.

Draco Malfoy, to Harry, was one of the most beautiful and amazing people he'd ever met, and that was saying something. He wondered how Draco could have been sorted into Slytherin because, surely, he should be in Gryffindor. He was not a bad person, was not as brave or as stern as he acted, nor was he desperate to be in charge like Harry had originally assumed. Draco was ready to let his pride go, and Harry had _no idea_ how he could be considered a Slytherin. Perhaps this act he has, the mask he wears, perhaps that he fooled even the sorting hat..

"You aren't a very good artist, are you, Potter?" asked Draco, looking up at the shape Harry had made which was supposed to resemble a cat but had turned out to look like a five-legged turkey.

"No one told me that you need art skills for this." Harry said, unwilling to admit the fact that Malfoy was more than a brilliant artist. "Where did you learn to draw like that?" he asked, watching the pink dove fly up until it exploded and turned into a cloud of grey smoke.

Draco smiled, wiggling his toes at the warmth of the fire. "By the lake. There was a lot of time to kill. I trained Betty the manticore, found your car, fought a few beasts here and there, but there isn't much to do. I have a shack there, you should visit, some time."

"Gladly." said Harry, looking at Draco's feet and wishing he had a pair of socks that fluffy. "Do you have a proper home?" He asked.

"Yes. A _manor_ , actually, but yes." said Draco, sounding far too snobbish.

"Do you go there often?"

"Yes." Draco said again, in the closed-off tone of someone who wanted to end the conversation. "Every night. I have no choice."

Harry hesitated to speak but he couldn't hold back his tongue. "But they beat you."

Draco looked at him, then turned his eyes away. "Yes."

There was a silence that Harry didn't know how to fill. He didn't know what to say to Draco, couldn't imagine how that felt. He, himself, had lived with people who did not love him, but neither Aunt Petunia nor Uncle Vernon would ever have dreamed of beating him. Suddenly, their house sounded like the most comforting place on earth.

"The door.. we should go." said Draco, standing up.

Harry followed, silent.

*

The room behind the green door was dark. _Really_ dark. And smelt like dust and years of neglect. Harry stepped in first, and with a bang and a crack, he found out that there was a short flight of stairs directly behind the door.

"Merlin, Potter, are you alright?" said Draco's silhouette from the top of the stairs. He whispered 'lumos' and his wand lit up. Harry was on the floor at the bottom of three steps, covered in dust and various spider corpses that made Draco rather glad that he hadn't been the one to enter the room first.

"Barely." said Harry, standing up. His spine popped and he brushed himself down, readjusting his glasses before he could look up at Draco with a crooked smile. "Coming?" He asked, putting a hand out.

Draco looked into the dark room behind Harry, then to Harry's hand that extended towards him. "As if." He waved dismissively and sat on the top step. "I'll wait for you."

Harry looked a little disappointed and retreated his hand. He turned his head to look into the darkness behind him before addressing Draco again. "Are you sure?—" he asked.

Draco caught onto the anxiousness standing in Harry's eyes and he smirked. "You're _scared_."

"So are you." said Harry, lighting his own wand. "At least I'm brave enough to go past the first step."

Draco looked like he'd been challenged then, and he wasn't about to lose. He stood up quickly, hopped down the steps, and walked into the darkness behind Harry. He stopped in the centre of the room and smiled maliciously but Harry could tell that he was scared. "There." Malfoy said, showing the darkness around him with a flick of his fingers. "Happy, Potter? I'm not a wuss like you think I am."

He had a strange look about him, similar to the one Harry had first seen when he'd watched Draco in Madam Malkin's. He had the stance of someone proud, someone fearless, but behind that facade he wore there was fear and worry. Draco kept a million secrets and the more he tried to hide, the easier they were to see.

Harry watched him increase his light and walk deeper into the room to explore. There were silhouettes of objects now, large ones and small nick-necks. Harry couldn't see them clearly, and he turned to the walls to find a candle holder. There they were, shaped like small gargoyles, a few bricks apart from each other. Harry lit them and the room engulfed itself in light.

"Woah." said Draco. Harry opened his eyes and found himself in a room cluttered in things that the Marauders had supposedly 'stolen'.

Beside him was a huge desk with endless bottles of bubbling potions tucked carefully in each open drawer. Shelves lined the brick walls, each one holding up thick books of spells and forbidden ones from the restricted section. Harry saw a book titled "Walter's book of de-gnoming your cabbage patch" and remembered how Professor Sprout had gone on and on about a missing book that went by that exact name.

He walked into the room and almost had a heart attack when he turned around and saw his reflection in a mirror. He looked at it, seeing Draco inspect a large statue of Salazar Slytherin in the background. The mirror was large, pointed at the top, and engraved in words that had to be read backwards to understand. This couldn't be what Harry thought it was—could it?

"The mirror of Erised.." he muttered "But it had been destroyed." He looked into it, at himself, getting terrible flashbacks from when he'd first found it. Slowly, a vision blurred the scene around him. He saw people stand behind him, and then he knew that he was right—this was the mirror of Erised.

Sirius Black stood to his left, his hand squeezing Harry's shoulder, Remus Lupin stood to his right. He nodded at Harry and winked. Behind them were people, people who'd fought and left their lives on the battle field. Fred Weasley stood with Hedwig on his arm, Tonks stuck her tongue out when Harry caught her gaze, and Colin Creevey flashed his camera and took a picture. Behind them were  many more people, and they were all smiling.

"What are you looking at yourself for?" asked Draco, snapping Harry's face away from the mirror. "You look like you've seen a ghost." Draco laughed and tapped Harry's cheeks with his wand to bring back some colour.

Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah.." He said. "Say, Draco..What do you see in the mirror?"

Draco looked confused for a moment but turned to the mirror. He glanced at it, then back to Harry. Harry grabbed his face and pushed it back. "Look at it longer. What do you see?"

Draco frowned but stared at the mirror. "It's a bloody mirror, Potter. I see us."

Harry's eyes widened and his hand fell away from Draco's hair to land limply by his side. Was the mirror broken? Or was Draco's desire—somehow related to Harry?

Draco left Harry standing there—utterly confused and baffled—and he wandered to an amulet that had been catching his attention. It was round, two dragons—one green and one red—intertwining around a blue ball that looked very much like a miniature remembrall. Unlike everything else in the room, the amulet was not dusty and Draco could see his reflection in the blue sphere. He shook it, watching the blue smoke swirl around and the dragons' eyes glisten in the light of the candles. It was warm, too, and Draco was somehow becoming intrigued by its beauty. The amulet was gorgeous..

"Draco?"

Draco snapped around, slipping the amulet into his back pocket. "What?" he asked.

Harry eyed him suspiciously. "I said that it's getting late. We should come back some other time."

Draco nodded stiffly, feeling the slow burn of the amulet against his skin, and they left the Marauder's locker.

*


	12. The Confiscated Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here is a quick reminder of what happened in the previous chapters (since this upload is rather late) :  
> So Draco and Harry found their way into the Marauder's Locker and had a look around to find many banished or 'disposed' items such as the mirror of Erised—to which Malfoy said that he saw only himself and Harry. They both left the locker, but Draco stole an amulet by putting it in his pocket.
> 
> I hope that you enjoy this chapter, and I apologise for any inaccuracy to the novels or films but please don't be rude about it. I am not a Harry Potter expert but I'm still trying my best for you. Also, some things have been changed in order to write the story.
> 
> I have put artwork at the end of this chapter, please tell me if you can see it because I'm not certain that the image hosting site works. Feel free to leave comments and kudos, I'll get back to you xx

The Forbidden Forest engulfed Harry as fast as his dreams had sent him to sleep. The werewolves howled at the glowing moon, the branches and leaves cracked and split under Harry’s footsteps, and owls hooted in the old dead trees. It was cold, freezing cold, and Harry shivered in both the reality where he lay in his bed and in the dream where he’d been before. He’d not had any other dream for a long, long time, and he wasn’t sure how he’d feel should he forget about this one. He’d got used to the shadows of the branches, to the glistening ripples on the lake, to the path he could never divert from, and he’d got used to the Patronus that would cry for help.

The only things that ever changed in those vivid dreams were the screams, the silence, the tempting wails, and the soft whispers of the unformed Patronus.

The voice was always the same one, always the same smooth tone that Harry could not identify. However, when it was not at its calmest, that voice would be often joined by another. Harry would hear cracking of wooden objects, glass shattering against hard surfaces, angry roaring of someone who was not pleased in the slightest. It was painful to listen to, painful to see that blue Patronus tear apart and break, but the most painful thing would be the end of the outbreak in anger—the silence that would follow. The silence of someone too weak to fight anymore.

And Harry was here again, standing at the edge of the lake which had dried to look more like a large puddle of silver water than anything else. It lapped at his toes, at his pyjama bottoms, but he could not move in his dream. He had a strange feeling in his chest, a pang of worry that settled in the pit of his stomach. It was not a pleasant feeling.

The Patronus was there and Harry smiled. He felt like a friend had come to greet him, like they’d known each other forever, and he’d missed that feeling.

The Patronus glowed blue, swirled around and around in a sphere, but Harry stared longer and his heart sank. The Patronus was burning up inside, red hot and submerged in smoke. Harry stared with wide eyes, the remainders of a short-lived joy still edged in a forced smile on his face. The Patronus let out pieces of black ash that Harry had not seen among the dark forest behind. He could hear choking, pain of a person too scared to make a sound. Harry had heard tears before, he’d heard heartbreak, betrayal, and many things from the Patronus, but he’d never heard it as intense as this.

The Patronus burned alive, now blazing red flames within small wisps of blue. It struggled like a man in chains, twirled around and around on itself as its lungs filled with black smoke. Harry was alarmed when wisps of blue fell to the ground and faded to black.

He was crying, now, tears tumbling down his face but his hands would not move from his sides. He could not turn his head, could not move, and was forced to watch his only friend die right in front of his eyes.

It was then, when the Patronus was almost engulfed completely, that Harry’s scar started to _burn_.

He who should not be named.. His voice was in the heart of the fire that murdered the Patronus. He was whispering, threatening, hissing words Harry could not understand. Harry fell to his knees, water soaking up in his clothes, his scar burning his forehead to the point that he could no longer see. Voldemort’s voice was tearing him down, tearing the Patronus down, and then the heat erupted. There was a loud explosion of heat that sent screeching and thrashing screams to tear past Harry’s ears. Harry’s mind and the Patronus turned pitch black.

*

“You keep touching you scar.” said Hermione, “Does it hurt again?”

She spoke in her know-it-all way but there was concern behind her words. Harry looked up from his library book called ‘Trolls and Gnomes exposed to chocolate, by Florence Swampgrew’, and he rubbed his forehead. “No, it doesn’t hurt.” He lied, “It’s fine.”

But it was not fine and his scar burned so much that he could barely keep his eyes open. It had been hurting all morning, sometimes with pain so intense that he’d felt as if someone had been holding hot wax against his skin. But he did not want to worry anyone and so he smiled at Hermione.

She looked back, not entirely believing Harry but she was as aware as he was that Voldemort had died and there was no possible way that he could return. “You’re strange, Harry. Especially recently. You’ve been acting strangely.” She said.

“Have I?” Harry raised his eyebrows, “I wasn’t aware, you’d never told me before. Thank you for enlightening me, Hermione.”

“I’m not joking, Harry.” She said, and she was not joking, “Ron, tell him he’s been acting strangely.”

Ron shared confused glances between Harry and Hermione until he shrugged. “Has he?”

Hermione stared at Ron, shook her head as if to say, ‘Well?’, and when Ron gave no reaction she sighed. She turned to Harry, “You’ve stopped complaining about feeling bored, for one; and for two, you’ve been giddy. You’re like a fourteen year old girl with a love interest.”

Ron snorted and Harry smiled uncomfortably, getting unforgivable flashbacks to the night with Malfoy in the Marauder’s common room. He’d not actually seen Malfoy since then, and that was two nights ago. His smile faded.

“Is there something you aren’t telling us?” said Hermione, reading Harry like an open book.

“No.” Harry squeaked out. “I don’t keep secrets, no point anymore, is there?”

Just then, they were interrupted as two students stopped by their table in the library. Harry recognised them as Ron and Hermione’s friends that had come from nowhere but were always just around the corner. The tallest one was in Slytherin, looking a little like Draco with a sharp face and blond hair. His eyes were green, his lips pulled into a mischievous smile that went perfectly with his undone tie and off-the-shoulder robes. A step behind him was another boy, shorter, and in Ravenclaw. He pushed his round glasses up his nose and Harry could relate to how they slipped back down straight afterwards. He had dark hair that looked completely unmanageable to comb and style.

“Hello, beautiful fellas.” The Slytherin boy said, leaning his thighs against the table edge as be put his hands in his trouser pockets. Ron and Hermione smiled when they saw him, and he smiled back. His eyes travelled over the books on the table to Harry. He put a hand out. “I’m Cyrus Ringfort. 6th year. Nice to finally meet you. This is Jonathan, but we call him Ginsey as in Jonathan Ginsburg. He’s in his 4th year.”

Harry wondered when Cyrus would stop shaking his hand and he said, “I’m Harry.”

“Obviously.” Cyrus let Harry go. “We’re going to Hagrid’s. He was supposed to give me and Ginsey some Dragon scale powder for.. for something. But he forgot.” He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck as if he’d said something he shouldn’t have. “Who’s coming?”

Ron jumped up a little too enthusiastically and, to Harry’s surprise, Hermione was eager to follow. Everyone turned to Harry who was still glued to his chair. “Well?” Ron asked. “You coming or what?”

Harry stood up, wondering what exactly this Dragon powder was, and he was hauled away to Hagrid’s hut.

*

The room was warm, a little too warm with the fire lit and the kettle on, and a little too cosy as well for the number of people in the room. Harry found himself pressed against Cyrus for a while until Hagrid called them all over to the table where a large pot awaited.

Everyone watched as he put on his pink oven gloves and poked a ladle into the water that boiled in the pot. “Don’t yeh lean to close, it’ll burn those tiny noses righ’ off yer faces. Wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

He swatted everyone away and twirled his ladle around. “Jar.” He said, taking a huge glass jar from Johnathan. It fitted like a cup in his hand. He poured a ladle of water into the jar and watched the water boil over the top. Everyone watched as all of the water left the jar and only a light grey powder was left. Hagrid swatted the jar to get rid of the heat, blew on it, and handed it to Cyrus. “There yeh go, Cyrus, tell Professor Slughorn I said ‘hallo’.”

Cyrus smiled and put the jar under his cloak, “Will do.” They all waved their goodbyes and left Hagrid’s hut in a hurry which lead Harry to believe that the Dragon’s powder had nothing to do with Professor Slughorn. Just as he was about to leave, his elbow caught a book and he knocked it off the shelf.

Harry bent down to pick it up but he stopped when he saw the page. Two dragon’s intertwined—one green, one red—wrapped around a blue ball that looked very much like a miniature remembrall. As Harry looked at the page with the drawing, the blue smoke in the ball swirled around and the dragon’s eyes glistened. It was beautiful. It was something he’d seen before.

“Hey, Hagrid? What’s this?” he asked, lifting up the book that he hadn’t bothered to read the title of.

Hagrid turned around with a ginormous mug of tea in his hands and before anyone could do anything, he dropped it. It smashed on the floor and tea went everywhere.

“Oh, sorry, Harry.” He bent down and scooped up the tea with his hands. He looked shaken, as if the drawing was something he did not want to see, as if he was trying to distract Harry from looking too.

“Hagrid, you’ll get burnt!” Harry shot down to the floor with a cold tea-towel and put it over Hagrid’s hands. He stood the half-giant up and sat him on a chair. “Are you alright?” he asked, looking at Hagrid’s terrified expression. He then turned his eyes to the book and the drawing and wondered what it could possibly be that made Hagrid react that way.

“Yer shouldn’t have opened that. Yer should not have opened that.” He shook his head and his cheeks wobbled.

“Why?” asked Harry, sitting on the chair beside Hagrid and looking very small compared to it. “What is it?”

“That, Harry, is dark dark magic.. That’s V—” He stuttered to get the word out, “It’s V—” He sighed and shook his head.

“Yes, I know who you mean.” Harry encouraged, “What about him?”

Hagrid shook his head again, “No, no. Not him, but it’s his friend.. from the orphanage..”

Harry frowned. He couldn’t imagine Voldemort with a friend and trying to think of that made him very uncomfortable. He looked at the drawing again. “What was his name? What house was he in?”

Hagrid shook his head for the uncountable time. “He was never at Hogwarts. Never left the Muggle world. Far too bad. He was the only person in the world remains more evil than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He was the only one too evil for Hogwarts.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide and when they did, Hagrid snapped out of whatever kind of memories he was in and stood up. “I should not have said that.” He walked over to his door and down the steps of his hut. “Yeh better be off, Harry, I should not have said that..”

Harry watched Hagrid disappear down to his vegetable patch and his eyes fell back onto the paper. He closed the book and looked at the cover. “The Darkest Revealed.” and over that writing was a stamp that said, “Confiscated from Hogwarts School, signed A.D.”

*

The dining hall was full and warm despite the rain outside, and Harry had taken a fancy to a rather large and stuffed pork pie. His mind was still fixed on what Hagrid had said, on the drawing in the book, and on Dumbledore’s stamp on the front. Surely, it had been confiscated from Hogwarts because it was too dangerous and dark for the students to read, but Dumbledore must have not wanted it destroyed so he’d given it to Hagrid in the hopes that he’d keep it safe.

He was thinking about this until the huge doors of the dining room slammed open and Filtch came barging into the room. Everyone fell silent as they turned to look at him. He limped and scurried up the middle aisle and all of the Professors stood up, to which Professor McGonagall took the upper hand and walked to the top step.

Harry looked at Filtch and his heart jumped in surprise. The man had scratches over his face, across his nose and on his cheeks; small claws had torn through his clothes and scratched his skin beneath. He had a truly horrified look on his face. “Mrs Norris! Mrs Norris scratched me! Mrs Norris attacked me!” and then he fainted.

Everyone started talking, pointing at Filtch, turning their heads to see Mrs Norris but for once, she was not by his side. Even McGonagall found it hard to believe that Mrs Norris would do such a thing to her master, and that thought was clear on her face as she hurried down the steps along with Hagrid to carry Filtch out of the room.

Harry looked at his hands. Perhaps the transformation had made Mrs Norris change attitude.. but that had been quite some time ago.. then.. what had made her attack?

 


	13. The Explosion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope that you enjoy this chapter, please tell me what you think of this story because I'd really appreciate the feedback.
> 
> Thank you for reading, please leave kudos and comment. x
> 
> ***

There was a scream, then a flash of light, and then a bang.

Harry snapped awake, jolting up from his bed so fast that he went blind for a few seconds. He heard Ron in the bed beside him, not snoring, but breathing as loudly as Harry was.

"Did you hear that?" Harry asked, finally seeing Ron through the black haze in front of his eyes. He was sat bolt up right in his bed, dark circles under his eyes and a shocked expression on his freckled face. He nodded slowly, his bottom lip quivering, and he pulled his duvet up to his neck.

"What the bloody hell was that?" He asked. "Sounds like bloody bombs are going off."

Harry looked at the window but the night still loomed over them. "I don't know." He waited for a moment and heard feet running down the corridors. He could hear students opening the doors to their rooms and then he heard McGonagall's voice shout, "Everyone, go to the Great Hall. Don't dawdle. Head straight to the Great Hall!"

"Come on." said Harry, leaping out of bed. He put on his shoes and his jumper that had been knitted by Mrs Weasley a few years back and was on the verge of getting rather small on him. He grabbed his wand that was tucked under his pillow, pulled Ron out of bed by single-handedly strangling him, and then dragged him to the door.

The corridors were busy, every student running down, professors forcing them back so they'd not fall in the gaps between the moving staircases. They had all heard the sound, had all heard the scream, and the fear those noises had brought were burnt on their faces.

Another loud bang then erupted, louder and nearer than the last. It was so loud that a few rocks crumbled down from the ceiling and every person in the corridors fell over. Harry grasped onto Ron, feeling his wand dig into his chest, and the vibrations from the explosion slowly stopped.

There was a silence, a silence filled with the sound of a threat. Something was wrong, that was clear, but this was something far more dangerous than a dementor attack are a troll infestation. A student cried out, and that started a chain reaction. Soon, everyone was running into each other, pushing each other, shoving one another to get the Great Hall first.

Ron, too, a some point, took a step down the stairs, but Harry grabbed him by his robes.

"No." He said. "Wait a minute."

Ron's face scrunched up and he looked around himself, appearing very scared and just by seeing him, you'd never be able to guess what bravery he'd once been through. "Wait a minute?" He repeated, " _Wait a minute?_ I'll be amazed if we have another minute, Harry. Why can't we just go with the others?"

Harry wasn't listening to him, he was focussed on the noises that went past the commotion. He stood between two steps in the spiral staircase that lead down from their room, paused as if he were stuck in time. He stared out of the small slit window at the dark, _listening_.

And then there was a jab in his forehead, right where his scar was. It only lasted a second, a sharp agonising second, but it was there. His hand shot up to his head, he hissed, and Ron grabbed him by the wrist.

"Please don't—" He said, "Don't tell me it's Voldemort. Is it, Harry?"

Harry looked at Ron, confusion on his face. He shook his head but he was clearly uncertain. "It wasn't the same pain. It didn't burn, not this time. It was more—"

Ron waited for the end of Harry's sentence, but it never came. Harry paused for a long while before turning to his pocket where he'd balanced his wand. Ron looked down at it, too. It was moving, wriggling, shooting out tiny red sparks that popped and sizzled into nothing. Just as Harry was about to toss it onto the ground, a red ribbon slithered out of the tip.

"It's you." said Harry, and Ron found his voice far too reassured. "Hello."

The ribbon slithered down Harry's leg and onto a step. It turned around and Ron was sure that it was looking at Harry.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked, "Do you know something?"

The ribbon wriggled around quickly, the tips flicking on each end, almost pointing. Harry saw the hint, Ron hoped that he was asleep, and then Harry said those fateful words that always got them in detention. "Get Hermione. Let's follow it."

*

"What spell is this?" Hermione asked between pants as they all followed the ribbon down the now-empty hall.

"Is that your main concern right now? Really?" Harry said, tripping over his own foot when he looked at Hermione, "The walls are still shaking from a huge explosion and you're talking about spells. In case you hadn't realised, Hermione, Voldemort might be back and out to kill us all."

"Voldemort's _dead_ , Harry. It's probably just the Gargoyles. I heard that someone charmed them so now they're in heat."

"Who told you that?" Ron said, wheezing like he'd been running for hours.

Hermione blushed and Ron forced a breathy laugh out. "It was _Cyrus_ , wasn't it? You go red when you think about him."

Harry wasn't sure what to make of Ron's tone of voice. He sounded both to be mocking and to be a little hurt. It was a strange and rather painful tone of voice, really.

"DOOOON'T!"

Hermione, Ron, and Harry stopped in their tracks. They spun around to the voice that had boomed around the corridor walls and saw Moaning Myrtle standing—or rather floating— there. Harry, for one, almost didn't recognise her out of the usual bathroom stall where he'd only ever seen her in.

And yet, she was here, hovering like a dark cloud of sad eyes and battered robes in the middle of the corridor with the deathly sad stare on her face. Her hand was still reaching out to them, and she lowered it. "Doooon't go out there.. Don't go out there."

Those words seemed stuck on her tongue, too many meanings behind them that she was unwilling to share. But those words, although simple, were ones that sent chills down Harry's spine. "Why?" he asked. "The exit is right there?" he said, gesturing to the door that lead to the main entrance.

Myrtle shook her head. "Don't go out there." She repeated, but she sounded deader than death itself. "It's too—he's become bad. Don't go out there. Don't. Go. Out. Theeeere."

And then she spun around and dashed down the corridor with a loud wail that trailed on behind her. Hermione, Ron, and Harry all stared at the wispy remains of where she'd been, all in shock, confused, far more scared than they'd been before. What had she meant by "He's become bad?"

"He's become bad." Harry repeated, unwillingly. His mind crawled over the words for a while until he turned to Hermione and said, "It's not Voldemort."

He spoke as if he had an idea of who or what was out there. He spoke with confidence, perhaps a little too much, and he did not want to show off that side of himself. He saw Hermione and Ron's gazes on him, could tell that they were waiting for him to explain, but he didn't have anything to say. He was certain that Voldemort was not back, purely by the fact that Myrtle had said "He's become bad", but he did not know what to expect.

Perhaps that they'd open these doors and Gargoyles would be all around the school. Perhaps they'd open these doors and they'd find a group of students who were up to no good. Perhaps they'd open the doors and find Hagrid with a load of spilled boxes that had once contained pumpkin pie. The truth was that Harry had no idea what awaited them, and the desire to know was feeding away at all three of them.

They  walked up to the doors, listening out for an indication to what was behind them, but they couldn't hear over the voices of the students in the Great Hall.

Harry put his hand on the door and turned to Hermione and Ron with a look that seemed to ask permission. Hermione gave it by nodding and taking her wand out of her robes. Harry did the same, and Ron followed on.

Just before pushing the door open, Harry thought to himself "Surely, nothing can be worse than the War." and that thought was wrong. So terribly, truly wrong.

A freezing breeze of grey smoke and bits of rock flew into Ron, Hermione, and Harry when the door opened. It pushed them back and made them put their hands over their faces. Harry coughed and blinked through the haze. He walked to the door and his heart dropped.

The bridge that they'd walked on many times had split. It had crumbled and caved in, right in the middle to leave a long drop for anyone who were to get too close to the edge. Harry could barely see through the mist and smoke that haunted the air, and so he walked out to the edge and peered over. The water below was burning, cold, looking like ice that could freeze you at the touch.

He jumped when Hermione grabbed him and pulled him back. "Stay away from there." She said. "You'll fall." She tried to sound responsible but her voice trembled. She had fear in her deep brown eyes and that fear scared Harry more than anything. He nodded and took a few steps back.

"Guys—" Ron said from a few feet to the left. Harry and Hermione turned to him, only to find him staring at something on the other side of the crumbling bridge. Harry looked where he slowly pointed.

Out there, among the mist were silhouettes of people. There were so many of them, so many dark shadows that Harry did not know where to look. He peered through his glasses, trying to focus on them through the mist.

"Who are they?" He asked, taking his wand out. "Why aren't they moving?"

"I don't kn—" Hermione was cut short by a painful realisation.

Ron then gasped and his hand came up to slap itself across his mouth so he'd stay silent. Harry then saw it, and his knees gave way beneath him.  He fell to the ground, his frightened and shocked gaze fixed with the eyes that watched back.

"Impossible." He said, and his father smiled back.

His eyes then moved as if by force, Harry caught more and more gazes out there. Beside his father was his mother, beside her was Lupin. Just behind Lupin stood Sirius. Harry caught Fred Weasley's gaze, he met the eyes of Tonks, Colin Creevey's camera snapped at him when the young boy took a picture, and Snape pushed it down.

Harry could barely breathe, he couldn't believe what he was seeing, couldn't believe that he was awake and he desperately wanted to know.

"Are they real?" He asked, still on his hands and knees. Tears streamed down his face and he coughed, wiping them away with his sleeve, "Tell me they're real. Tell me they're alive!"

He shouted out, screamed into the abyss, his heart beating so hard in his chest that he thought it'd explode.

But then a boy pushed through the crowd on the other side of the bridge.

A boy with blond hair and grey eyes. A boy in Slytherin robes with a sly grin on his pale and pointed his face.

"Potter." He said, and Harry's blood ran cold from the sight of those eyes. "Welcome to my army."

*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you like this story and I'm sorry for any inaccuracy (I'm new to the Harry Potter fandom)
> 
> What do you think of it so far, though? Do you like it?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and being patient while I write out the chapters. As I said, I'm not a Harry Potter expert so it's difficult for me to write this but I'm trying my very best.


	14. Beware, Potter

Harry's jaw dropped open. Hermione's hand lowered and the light on her wand dimmed. Ron's expression changed from shock to fear and then to an anxious curiosity when his eyes rested on Harry. All of the stares from all of the people were now on the Boy who lived once again. Harry felt them burn him, they felt them through the scar on his forehead, and even when he reached a hand up to rub the pain away, it seemed to send that lightening through his fingertips.

Draco stepped forth, and Harry's heart sank to the depths of his chest. Those grey eyes that he'd slowly and mysteriously grown attached to were no longer those of a lonely boy. Harry no longer saw Draco as Draco, but he saw someone else right then. The robes around Draco's body blew around with the freezing gusts of wind, they engulfed him in black waves that reminded the trio of dementors. The only difference that they saw between a dementor and the boy ahead was the pale skin, the blond hair, and the strange air that made him appear almost under a trance.

"Harry?" Hermione said in a way that demanded an explanation. "Who is that? do you know him?" Her eyes were brimmed with tears and Harry saw them roll down her face in the few seconds that he took to glance at her before moving back to where Draco stood.

He gulped, forced every piece of himself to keep his stare on Draco, to keep it anywhere but on the faces of the people who he had believed to be dead all of this time. Perhaps it was denial—denial that these people were quiet possibly alive after all—or perhaps that it was the fear of seeing them again after this time, but Harry couldn't bare to look at them.

He knew the faces in the crowd all too well. Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Fred Weasley, Tonks, even his parents.. He knew them all too well, and something about that knowledge was missing. There was definitely something about the people on the other side of the crumbling bridge was was off. Harry couldn't place it, but the people ahead were not the ones that he'd spotted in the stars.

"Well, Potter?" Draco asked, "Are you not going to answer her?" He smiled slyly and Harry couldn't hold back the pain in his chest as his hand dragged itself from the damp floor to clutch itself over the heavy beating of his own heart. "Tell her who I am, Potter, or are you too _scared_?"

Harry let out a heavy breath and slowly rose to his feet, not even aware of the damp patches that had seeped into his clothes. "He's—"

And then he stopped. He kept his stare on Draco, unable to hide the pain and fright of the unknown from creeping over his face like a mask that he couldn't remove. He didn't know how to finish his sentence, as he didn't know who this boy was. For one thing, he looked like Draco, had Draco's voice, but his stare was too dark. His hands held onto his wand too tightly. His sneer was too mocking. Harry looked at Draco, but he didn't see him at all.

"Bravery is a Gryffindor's finest trait, is it not? Perhaps you were meant to be in Slytherin after all, Potter."

"Harry, talk to us!" Ron said, grabbing Harry by the arm and shaking him in frustration. "What's going on? Harry, come on!"

Harry shook his head and put a hand over his eyes. He felt tear after tear roll down his face and through his fingers. It was not only alarming to him that he was suddenly crying like a child, but Hermione and Ron seemed to pause as well. In fact, everyone seemed unsure if what they saw was real or just some kind of strange illusion in which the Boy who lived, the Boy who'd defeated Voldemort, even, was crying so openly.

But Harry James Potter—the Boy who'd opened the Marauder's locker, the Boy who'd made love to a pair of grey eyes and a warm heartbeat—that boy couldn't hold it back anymore. His heart was shattering in his chest, it cut him from within and sent those tears of pain to cascade down his cheeks. It hurt to lose someone, that was sure, but it hurt more to see those lost ones return. It hurt to see a loved one turn their back and become someone else. It just hurt so much to reclaim the past and be betrayed like this.

"Beware, Potter." Draco said, his voice echoing over the sound of the waves beneath the school. The trio looked up at him and saw that he was balancing on a broomstick. "They all return, and he will, too."

And then there was a huge cloud of grey smoke that erupted from behind Draco and the people that surrounded him. A cloud that burst like an explosion and sent pieces of stone and wood flying into the trio's faces. Harry just caught sight of Draco before he disappeared, and that small glimpse was enough to make his mind click. 

*

Upon entering the Great Hall, Harry, Hermione, and Ron were all covered from head to toe in dust. Harry's glasses were broken once again, Ron's robes were torn and he had a cut on his cheek from a stone that flew past a little too close, and Hermione had twigs and Merlin knows what stuck in her matted hair.

Everyone turned to look at them, and it was not a scene that they were unfamiliar with. However, the students were alarmed to see the trio in such a state—perhaps not by the state of their attire or their timing, but by the way that all three of them had red eyes and tear stained faces.

Professor McGonagall saw them and immediately rushed down the steps, muttering and tutting as she prepared for a punishment and an explanation.

Harry saw her approach and knew that all three of them were going to get something terrible from her, but he couldn't have cared less. He wiped his cheeks, his heart still ablaze with broken pieces, his mind torn between Draco and the people he loved. It all seemed like a forgotten memory, like something that he couldn't place as either a nightmare or a dream. It had all happened so fast, so suddenly, and yet the scars and dust that he'd received were a terrible reminder that this was all real.

"You three again, where were you?" McGonagall asked, her face flushed with anger and concern.

She looked at the three faces before her and the look she'd previously had faded quickly into alarm. She glanced around the Great Hall to see everyone stare back, and then returned the looks to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "In my office, quickly." she said.

*

Hermione, Ron, and Harry were all sat down on seats in front of the very large desk that they'd seen countless times too many. Behind that desk was Professor McGonagall who, as well as the desk, they had also seen countless times too many. "You better not be here to tell me that you went out there." She said, leaning towards them.

Neither Ron nor Hermione answered, and Harry felt complied to as he was sitting directly in front of the Professor. He opened his mouth, but his lip quivered and he closed it again when no words came out. Professor McGonagall caught onto the message and sighed, "It is always you three. I'll be glad to see you go." She said, but her words were sympathetic and light-hearted. Her eyes rose from a piece of blank paper that awaited on the desk and shifted between the trio. Their faces weren't like they usually were, their expressions too sorrowed, their hearts too heavy. They had seen something out there, something that Professor McGonagall had not.

"Please, I will not punish you. Tell me what you saw." She said, trying her best to not let those pained stares draw their way into her own heart. "Mr Potter?" She asked.

Harry once again opened his mouth, his green eyes on Professor McGonagall but he barely saw anything but that scene he'd been forced to witness. Draco's sneer was in his mind; his parents, friends, family, all of them staring at him like they weren't really there.

"I—" He stuttered, fidgeting with the buttons at the base of his shirt as his eyes began to water again, "Draco Malfoy.."

That name was one that Professor McGonagall had clearly heard before as something snapped in her then. Her eyes widened and she leant back in the chair. "Draco Malfoy. " She repeated, as if inciting that Harry should elaborate.

Harry wondered what to say, what should be said at a time like this. "It was Draco, he's the son of Lucius Malfoy, isn't he?" Harry looked up from his lap and his eyes were so pained that McGonagall could barely look, "He's a Death Eater, isn't he? That's why you expelled him."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances between Harry and the Professor, wondering what was happening and how much Harry knew that they didn't.

Professor McGonagall sighed and rubbed her temples. She looked back to Harry and nodded. "Yes, Mr Potter. Unfortunately, you are correct." She then took a large book from the shelf, placed it on the desk and flicked at the pages with her wand. It fell onto an open page with a picture of Draco in his Slytherin robes. Over his face was a large red stamp with the word 'Expelled' written in cursive letters. "He was expelled by Dumbledore himself for being revealed as a Death Eater. He was dangerous."

Harry swallowed, his heart burning like a wildfire in his chest. He was getting flashbacks to the time in the Marauder's locker, to the intimacy by the lake.. He was seeing memories return to him like they'd been the most precious but distant things in his life. Those memories were love, and his love was being destroyed right before him.

"This is going to sound crazy, completely mad even, but you have to believe me. You're not going to like this, Professor." Harry brought his eyes up to hers and inhaled deeply. "There was an amulet that was created a long time ago and, I don't know how, but Draco now seems to have it. I saw it just before he left. The amulet is one that only Dumbledore and Hagrid knew about in this school, as far as I can tell. It's the 'Amulet of Derelictio', an device that can only be used by a Death Eater.."

He trailed off, getting lost in his own thoughts again until McGonagall squeezed his shoulder from across the desk. "Sorry." He said, "The Amulet of Derelictio is something more powerful than anything else in the world. It contains more destruction than Voldemort could ever manage. Voldemort was kept away by our love for each other, however—" he paused again and took a sharp breath "this amulet will turn your most loved ones against you."

Professor McGonagall's eyes were deathly wide and staring at Harry in a way that petrified him. Hermione let out a quick yelp that she kept back by putting a hand over her mouth, and Ron just stared in pure horror at Harry.

Harry's tears rolled down his cheeks again and he wondered if they'd ever stop. "The only way to get rid of the evil this time is to kill our most loved ones. We must turn against our own."

"Has Voldemort returned? Who created the stone?" The Professor asked, more urgently.

"The amulet was created long before Tom Riddle came to Hogwarts, and it was not his amulet to begin with, Professor. The amulet was created by his muggle friend from the orphanage. The amulet belongs to Pierre Delamore."

The mug of tea that McGonagall was holding suddenly fell out of her grasp and smashed on the floor. Her hands shook, her skin turning a pale white, and she completely shut down for a moment that it took her to process the name.

"Professor?" Hermione asked, although her voice was pitched.

Professor McGonagall shook her head repeatedly, "No." She said, "No, this can't be happening. Surely, it can't be happening." She then looked up and the tears and pain that had scarred Harry were now apparent on her own face, as well. "Albus always said: There is no man more feared than Voldemort, but even he fears Pierre Delamore."

*

**Hiya! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. Here are important notes:**

Pierre Delamore is a name that can mean two very different things:  
\- Pierre is the French name for Peter, and it also means "Stone"  
\- His surname is Delamore. This can either be translated as "De la mort = of death" as in "Stone of Death", or it can be translated as "Del Amore = of Love" as in "Stone of Love".

Pierre Delamore uses love as a tool to kill, and that is the most powerful weapon in the world that even Voldemort couldn't defeat. And although Pierre Delamore is dead, his power lives on through the amulet. 

What the amulet of Derelictio does, in possession of a Death Eater, is bring back the dead and turn them evil. They cannot be annihilated by anyone other than their closest love.

**So what do you think will happen? Are you enjoying this story?  
Written with love, Lucy x**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. Here are important notes:
> 
> Pierre Delamore is a name that can mean two very different things:  
> \- Pierre is the French name for Peter, and it also means "Stone"  
> \- His surname is Delamore. This can either be translated as "De la mort = of death" as in "Stone of Death", or it can be translated as "Del Amore = of Love" as in "Stone of Love".
> 
> Pierre Delamore uses love as a tool to kill, and that is the most powerful weapon in the world that even Voldemort couldn't defeat. And although Pierre Delamore is dead, his power lives on through the amulet. 
> 
> What the amulet of Derelictio does, in possession of a Death Eater, is bring back the dead and turn them evil. They cannot be annihilated by anyone other than their closest love.
> 
> So what do you think will happen? Are you enjoying this story?  
> Written with love, Lucy x

**Author's Note:**

> My instagram is LHNameless (art is available there), and I also have a Wattpad account where this book is also published by the same name.  
> Thank you, Lucy.


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